


lofi hip hop 2am laundromat vibes

by goth_lawliet_faustus



Category: Kuroshitsuji (2014), Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Good and Ominous Vibes Only, Grell Sutcliff is a Troll, Slow Burn, allow me to introduce you to my crackship LauLau, because i had to be on tech for that in high school, crackfic, did I mention this is crack, everything about this is crack, feel good inc., grell and ran-mao sing WAP, grell has a chow chow she named sebastian while staring the real sebastian dead in the eyes, grell is a theater kid, grell speaks only in sexual innuendos, i owe everything to the fanfic shinigami social media it's so good check it out, i will go down with this ship or i will destroy this ship, inspired by a deadpool quote, it's Claude x Lau, lau has a chicken named Stoner John, lofi hip hop beats to relax/ship grelliam to, no literally the song is in it, no one misgenders grell because i'm not about those negative vibes, or... i don't know, othello plays animal crossing, ronald is tiktok famous, shinigami dispatch society: home of the stick up william t. spears' butt, shinigami haken kyoukai no theme will never leave my head, something always works out, the reapers work at a nonprofit in this au because in a way death is a nonprofit, they put on a play of sweeney todd, unfortunately i am not a good writer but i tried, william is addicted to period pieces
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:02:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26738566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goth_lawliet_faustus/pseuds/goth_lawliet_faustus
Summary: "Seltzer water and lemon for blood. Or wear red, dumbass."aka Will runs into Grelle at an abandoned laundromat and things only get more chaotic from there.
Relationships: Alan Humphries/Eric Slingby, Claude Faustus/Lau, Ludger/Sascha (Kuroshitsuji), Mey-Rin/Ran-Mao (Kuroshitsuji), Ronald Knox & Grell Sutcliff, Sebastian Michaelis & Ciel Phantomhive, William T. Spears/Grell Sutcliff
Comments: 22
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

“Seltzer water and lemon for blood.”

Will glanced up from his crimson-stained work shirt. Formerly, it had been a crisp white, but now it looked as if he had thrown it in a vat of wine and Kool-Aid and let it ferment for a few days. An unfortunate side effect. He sighed. The laundromat was mostly abandoned, which was rather expected for one in the morning. What kind of recluse would possibly have the audacity to address a shirtless man with a permanent resting serial killer face, holding a shirt covered in blood, at midnight?

The audacious stranger in question popped up from the dryer behind him and showcased a sour, apathetic glare through red-rimmed glasses. Her bright chartreuse eyes- not emerald colored or the shade of muddy moss, but honest to god neon green- gave him a pitying stare that somehow also managed to convey that she couldn’t care less.

“Or wear red, dumbass.”

Her second words shocked William out of the surprise of having a random woman lecture him in the middle of a highly disreputable laundromat at nearly midnight about his methods of cleaning blood out of his work suit. In fact, Will had been using a tide pen, and had cleaned off an entire inch of the fabric already, thank you very much Miss Laundromat-Critic.

She crossed her arms over the machine in front of her and rested her chin on her wrists, her head tilting to the side. Like she was analyzing Will, picking apart every hair and muscle and slight movement with those bright green eyes as if she had Terminator vision and was scanning him. As if bits of information just crossed her vision like *bloop* ‘little honky ass’. 

“I beg your pardon?” Will managed to croak out. How very unseemly. He wasn’t used to these kinds of situations at all.

The redhead’s sharp green eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Then beg, darling.”

As Will was left to wonder as to this incredibly strange response, her attention was directed elsewhere. Her mind seemed to move at light speed, moving from thought to scandalous thought as quick as the neurons sparked in her brain.

“Ooh, you are a handsome man, aren’t you?” she cooed at him. “And what a devilish personality as well! You walk in here, just as I’m washing my unmentionables”- she flashed a piece of lacy red lingerie that appeared to be still covered in soap- “and remove your shirt?! How indecent of you! It’s as if you’re trying to get a poor woman all hot and bothered! It’s working quite well, though,” she mused. “I’ve had my eye on you from the moment you started stripping. Oh, you nasty boy!”

Will wondered if he could get away with it if he committed homicide in this laundromat at 11pm.

“For god’s sake woman, compose yourself,” he chided. “You are in a public place. I can only assume you are intoxicated to behave in such a harlotrous manner.”

“Oh my darling, so little you think of me!” the redhead gasped and clutched her heart dramatically. Will rolled his eyes behind his own glasses and pushed them up with one finger. They were always slipping down the bridge of his nose, quite annoying really.

She wiggled her hips in what Will could only assume was meant to be a suggestive manner. “I happen to have been a good girl tonight and I haven’t been drinking, if you must know. Oh, but your cold attitude only makes me want you more!” She blew him a kiss.

Will sighed. “Do you perhaps have a husband or wife or caretaker I can call to dispose of you?” he offered. It was his form of generosity.

She wailed in a highly unprofessional manner, exposing sharp teeth. How strange. Will was just beginning to wonder the genetic possibilities of such a phenomenon when she cried out, “Are you asking if I’m single, handsome?” She threw herself over the washing machine in front of her and stuck her ass in the air.

Will cringed.

“I certainly am,” she purred. “I had a brief affair with a dreadful mortician recently- a lady has her needs after all- but it tragically ended after he faked his own death and killed several people in the process. I think it may have been to further his business. Oh love, but we needn’t concern ourselves with such dreary matters! All that matters is the passion between us and between our hot bodies!”

Will had several questions, not the least of which was ‘can I sue her for sexual harassment’. He decided against it for now. She looked rather down on her luck and was probably an addict of some sort, if the coke necklace in the shape of a red skull dangling around her neck was any indicator. He sighed. Knowing her- for a few minutes at least- she would probably use the lawsuit as an excuse to have more time with Will.

“I happen to enjoy dreary matters,” he huffed, attempting to return his attention to the bloodstained suit in his hands.

That dreadful woman was not one to be ignored, no matter how much she seemed to get off on it. “Sweetheart, I told you that little pen of yours won’t do any good,” she sighed loudly. Her ears almost seemed to perk up. “Oh my, now I’m thinking about other things... what a sinful woman I am! But I’ll bet you’re sinful too, honey- you business types always are. And if how stiff you’re standing is any indication then!”- She let out a cry of excitement.

Will groaned. Damn his washing machine. Why did it have to break today of all days, before the important meeting? And now he had to suffer this awful woman. The thought of murder often crossed his mind.

He sighed. “Seltzer water and lemon, you said?”

The redhead nodded enthusiastically. “Or if you want, I have a whole array of blood-colored outfits to lend you...” She held up a lacy transparent crimson bra. “No?”

Will shook his head.

She sighed and tossed it back in her laundry basket.

“Do you have any idea,” Will asked her, restraining the murder in his voice, “where I might find seltzer water and lemon...”

“Grelle,” the toothy redhead grinned. “Grelle Sutcliff.” She reached over a manicured hand.

Against his better judgement, Will took it. “William T. Spears,” he replied. Grelle squeezed his hand in excitement and he wrenched it away, letting out a measured sigh.

Her hand was surprisingly warm and... wet. God, he hoped that was from washing her clothes. He made a mental note to douse his left hand in sanitizer later.

The only human contact Will really got was from handshakes. Certainly none of them ever squeezed his hand like they were trying to get information out of it. He flexed the hand instinctively.

“Do you know where I can find seltzer water and lemons?” Will asked again.

Grelle nodded, making the chain around her glasses bounce with her angular head. “There’s a 24/7 gas station just a few blocks away, dearie.”

“Thank you.” Will ignored the wailing responses and pulled out his phone to search for the place. A cold flash of horror gripped his heart when he saw the battery life.

2%.

And he’d lost his charger. And lent his backup charger to Eric. And lent his backup backup charger to Eric again, an hour later.

Oh god.

Will took a deep breath and sighed. “My phone is dead,” he began to explain. Grelle opened her mouth, probably for another promiscuous comment, perhaps that his phone might be dead but her sex drive sure wasn’t, but he immediately followed with, “Do you have a charger I can borrow?”

Grelle clicked her tongue and rummaged through a large Victorian-style purse. “Hmm... my makeup... taser... vape pen... wakizashi...” she made a small noise of disapproval. “But no charger. Sorry, love.”

Will mentally screamed into the void. “Would you mind then, giving me directions to the gas station?”

Grelle giggled, somehow managing to do this with all of her body. “Well... I suppose I could. But it’d be much easier if I was to take you there myself!!”

His heart drained and his face paled.

The horror of his current situation dawned on him.

He would have let Grelle Sutcliff escort him.

To a gas station.

Without a shirt.

At 1:42 am.

Grelle let out a little diabolical laugh. “So, what’ll it be Will dear?”

“I begrudgingly accept your offer to take me to the gas station,” Will grumbled. This eccentric redhead really was testing his patience.

She cackled. “Ooh, how wonderful!” she cried. “We’ll walk hand in hand, like lovers do, and you’ll give me your jacket when I inevitably get cold”- she paused and looked him up and down. “Now that I think about it, Will,” Grelle mused, “they won’t let you in looking like that. For the record, I’m all for it, but even their standards aren’t that low. And you can’t well wear your shirt- it’s drenched in blood.” An evil spark gleamed in her green eyes. “You could borrow my clothes! I finished a load of my casual outfits just as you arrived!”

Will racked his brain for any other options. Any other person in the laundromat he could ask.

There weren’t any. It was just him and this maniac redhead.

Will sighed for the millionth time. “Fine. But nothing too untasteful.”

Grelle’s sharp canines were formatted in a terrifying grin. “Of course not, my darling Will.”

Fifteen minutes later, the reject pile included: a t-shirt for some ridiculous band ‘Butthole Surfers’, which William rejected purely on the name. Grelle bragged about having seen them live, going into some very explicit details about her hookup at that concert before Will stopped her. A top that read ‘WELL FUCK ME WITH A CHAINSAW’ in exceptionally large font. An old cast member shirt from a high school production of Little Shop of Horrors, which was rejected because it no longer fit Grelle, and she now wore it as a very short crop top (Will was not the least bit surprised to learn that Grelle was a theater kid. Grelle insisted on telling an anticlimactic story about how she played Audrey and kissed the boy who voiced Audrey II “with tongue” backstage on multiple occasions). And a hoodie that seemed to be entirely composed of prints of moaning anime-style women in horribly sexual positions (Grelle claimed this was post-ironic. Will said it looked idiotic to passerby all the same).

After a dozen more equally idiotic tops, eventually Grelle held up an old thin black sweatshirt with a triangle logo on the back and “Panic! At the Disco” on the front, all in the same green as her eyes.

“That’s my last one,” she sighed, setting it on top of the washing machine.

Will pushed up his glasses and took a deep breath. “Alright. The black panicking one.”

Grelle giggled as she handed it to him. “Really? You’ve never heard of them? They’ve gotten to be rather popular.”

“If you like the band, I pity them,” Will grunted as he pulled on the weathered top. Grelle was smaller than him, not by much but it still showed. The soft black fabric clung to him in all the best/worst spots. As he turned around, he caught his reflection in the window of a dryer. His hair was rumpled and he looked like a horrid college boy in Grelle’s emo sweatshirt. Like Ronald on Casual Fridays (Will had still worn a suit then and had eventually managed to get the day banned altogether on the premise that he never wanted to see Alan’s goddamn crocs again). “I look ridiculous,” he grumbled.

“On the contrary!” Grelle giggled to herself.. “I didn’t think it was possible but you’re dreamy still even with clothes on! It makes me wonder more about them off!” she cried out.

“You are very unprofessional,” Will snapped.

“Well, we aren’t exactly in a professional environment, dear,” Grelle pointed out, as if Will was a toddler. “Now!” Clutching her large Victorian purse, she jumped over the washing machines and grabbed Will’s hand. “Oh, a lovers’ adventure! The perils of midnight await us!” Grelle exclaimed. “I can anticipate the tension between you and me, the hand-holding, the”-

“There will be no hand-holding,” Will snapped. He tore his hand away from hers and shook it, as if that would purge the Grelle touch.

Grelle pouted for a second then looked up. “Whatever is the matter? Do you perhaps think I have cooties, Will?”

“I’m not a child, Sutcliff,” he sighed. “Enough drivel. Please take me to the gas station.”

Grelle looped her arm in his. “Off we go together then!”

Will freed his arm and pushed her away, rather roughly. “Honestly. It’s as if you want your arm to be broken.”

“Hmm. Kinky.” Grelle winked before turning around and throwing her purse over one shoulder, then walking out- in four-inch heels, Will noticed- and waving after Will. “Come along now, William!”

He resisted the urge to punch a washing machine and dutifully followed her to the unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

Bright and colorful lights reflected off the moisture clinging to the asphalt. Neon signs from clubs and other disreputable establishments Will didn’t care to attend lit their path with green and blue. It was nearly like Alice in Wonderland, Will thought. And he was poor Alice, being led down the colorful LSD-fueled rabbit hole by an even more colorful character named Grelle. Did that make her the white rabbit? No, he thought. Alice wanted to follow the white rabbit. Will didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

  
Grelle’s banshee-like voice split the night air with a ghastly cry. “Ahh Will, so cold to me, you are! That stoic and silent demeanor... really makes a gal wonder what lies underneath!” Her lips split and curled upward in a smile made of razor-sharp teeth. That devilish grin, Will thought. She was no white rabbit, but a Cheshire Cat instead.

  
“How do you possibly maintain the energy to be this way?” Will grumbled. It was nearly two in the morning, and it had been a very long day for him. He was running out of patience to maintain his normal professional demeanor, but Grelle seemed to have no difficulty being constantly high-energy and practically hyperactive.

  
Grelle laughed. Her laugh was pitchy and hurt Will’s ears. “It’s easy to keep my motor running when I meet someone as good-looking as you, handsome.”

  
Will sighed as they rounded a corner and entered another, painfully neon-lit and foul-smelling avenue. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”  
“Mmm. I never get tired.” She winked at Will, who rolled his emerald green eyes and kept trudging onward. “Oh- oh hey, keep talking to me!”

  
“If you insist I must keep talking, let me elaborate, Miss Sutcliff,” Will interjected. “Please stop commenting on my appearance and talk about other matters. Or, if at all possible, be silent. I have not experienced you in such a way, but I can only imagine I would enjoy it.”

  
Grelle huffed. “How can I talk about other matters? You haven’t the slightest clue of pop culture.”

  
“I don’t know what you are referring to by ‘pop’ culture, but I imagine you’re right,” Will muttered. “You nearly remind me of Ronald.”

  
Hell. Why did he say that. Why on earth would he bring up his annoyingly Gen-Z coworker who insisted on forcing the entire office to do TikTok dances together?! (The first time, Will had pulled the fire alarm out of surprise).

  
“Oh now, who is this Ronald boy?” Grelle mused, jabbing Will in the ribs with her elbow. “A boyfriend, perhaps? Oh my, I should’ve known you like men, it’s clear that the stick up your ass is so often replaced by”-

  
“Stop talking,” Will grunted. “Now.”

  
She smirked and walked a few feet ahead of him, as if to demonstrate her victory of the conversation.

  
Firstly, she hadn’t won anything. Why was she so unbreakably persistent? It was infuriating.

  
Secondly, Will didn’t like men. To be honest, he hadn’t dated much. He broke up with his college girlfriend because the distraction had caused his grades to fall a few points. Not exactly London’s hottest bachelor material (This wasn’t stopping Grelle, though). Will had kissed his friend and now coworker Alan, but that just a favor for Alan so he could see if Eric got jealous. Long story short, Eric got sent to anger management briefly (he broke every one of Will’s pens whilst staring him dead in the eyes and Will may have exaggerated in his report to HR), and Will wasn’t much interested in dating regardless of gender. It just felt like more work.

  
Almost all people got the impression that Will was in love with his work. He wasn’t. He liked it enough, and it was very important it be done correctly, but it wasn’t the love of his life. He preferred reading old novels, drinking old wine, and watching old movies. He was old at heart.

Perhaps that’s why young-acting and vivacious folk such as Grelle and Ronald got on his nerves so much.

  
Will sighed and caught up to Grelle. “Ronald is my coworker,” he begrudgingly explained.

  
Grelle raised one thin red eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell. I love a good office gossip.” A slight smile graced her face.

  
“He acts somewhat like you,” Will continued. “You both seem to possess an unlimited source of energy and a knowledge of new slang that has passed me by. He doesn’t much flirt with me, though. I greatly prefer that over your way of doing things.”

  
Grelle made an “o” shape with her mouth in mock surprise. “My dearest William! You reject my advances? Oh, how shall I ever recover?” She cast her hand dramatically upon her forehead and pretended to faint into Will’s arms.  
Will didn’t catch her.

  
Grelle Sutcliff stumbled backwards and crashed into a dirty brick wall outside a bar covered in posters for local bands. She whined incessantly. “How cruel!” she protested. The actress in her didn’t miss a second. “To let a lady fall like that! Some gentleman you are, William!”

  
“Get used to it,” Will said.

  
Grelle mock dusted herself off and marched onwards. She yawned, covering her mouth with one manicured hand, then shook her face to keep herself awake.

  
“Ronald is a strange young man,” Will continued, not giving Grelle a minute to breathe. “My coworker Sascha was once giving a presentation about office spending and said something along the lines of, ‘There’s only one thing worse than inflation.’ And Ronald replied, in the most incredulous tone, ‘A child.’”

  
Grelle started wheezing. “Short king. Iconic. Beautiful.” She snorted.

  
Will took a moment to process. After crossing the next street corner and realizing it was useless to try and understand, he continued, “Once I called him into my office for a routine performance review. When it was his turn to speak, he said, ‘I have had a long day. I am very small. I am very tired. And I have no money. So you can imagine the kind of stress I am under.’”

  
Grelle cackled and hit Will’s shoulder. He started and slapped her hand away. She didn’t much care, and replied, “This boy is a damn poet.”

  
Will pushed up his glasses and sighed. “Is this some sort of pop culture thing?”

  
“You’re so adorable!” Grelle exclaimed. “Ah! Yes, handsome. Remind me to force feed you hours of vines and John Mulaney specials later. Oh, and just a left here, honey.”

  
As they turned left, the two passed a still-open lingerie store with some very bright neon signage that hurt Will’s eyes. “I’m banned from that one, you know Will?” Grelle commented as they passed it.

  
Will sighed. “What on earth did you do to get banned from a 24/7 adult shop?”

  
Grelle winked and stuck her hip out to the side. “That’s a secret for later, you devilishly cold boy.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grelle commits petty crime

The cloudy glass doors let out a quiet ‘ding’ as they dragged themselves open. Will squinted. The blinding light of the gas station sharply contrasted to the dark streets, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. Amongst the aisles of products, a few other night owls populated the place, mostly college students pulling all-nighters and drunks looking for a rest.

  
Grelle let out a victorious sigh. “Well, here we are, dearie.” She started off towards the makeup aisle. “Get your things; I’ll meet you at the checkout. And don’t take too long! I can’t abide men who take ages to finish.”

  
She left before Will could protest that he no longer wanted to continue with her. Well, he would need her to get back to the laundromat where he’d left his clothes anyhow.  
He groaned at her millionth sexual innuendo of the night, and scanned the store, attempting to locate the lemons.

Although their fresh fruit selection was disappointing- and horribly sourced, Will sighed, couldn’t anything be fresh from the farm for once? He made a mental note to mention collaborating with local farmers at the company meeting next week with a local soup kitchen. Nonprofit work never stops, he sighed.

  
He emptied a few of the waxy yellow things into a black shopping basket and waved down a nearby employee.  
The yellow-haired boy looked to be nearly twenty and had buttons pinned to his apron that said things like “SUPPORT WESTLAKE ANIMAL SHELTER!” and “TRANS RIGHTS!” His name tag read ‘Finnian.’

  
“Hello sir, can I help you?” he asked in the voice of someone who was paid to be cordial and enthusiastic, but at this hour of the morning, it was incredibly difficult to be so.

  
“Do you have any seltzer water?” Will asked, grateful to talk to someone who wasn’t Grelle.

  
Finnian nodded. “Just over here, yeah.” He led Will to a display of various liquids kept behind a flat fridge and pointed to the middle shelf. “There. Oh, Panic, I love that band,” he mentioned casually, glancing at Will’s borrowed sweater.

  
“It’s not mine,” Will immediately reacted. “I borrowed it from a friend.”

  
Friend. Oh, no. Certainly not. Miss Sutcliff was no friend of his, not even an acquaintance. She was merely an unfortunate laundromat companion that he was forced to ally with for the sake of a clean work shirt. However, that was more difficult to explain than ‘friend.’

  
“Oh. Sorry,” Finnian replied, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Is there anything else I can help you with today, sir?”

  
“No, thank you,” Will said hurriedly, placing two bottles of seltzer water in his shopping basket and walking in the opposite direction as Finnian. He didn’t really want to associate with anyone who thought he and Grelle were ‘friends’. He shuddered at the thought.

  
He ended up picking out two charger cords and some bleach as well. Just to be safe.  
“Oh Will!!”

  
A horrible wailing shriek pierced the air. Grelle Sutcliff waved enthusiastically from him from her perch near the entrance, grinning broadly and showing off her abnormally sharp teeth. Will winced, sighed, and walked toward her.

  
“Oh my, and what did you get?” she mused, grabbing Will’s basket out of his hands with surprisingly strong arms. “Ah... seltzer and lemons like I told you to, good boy.” She rummaged through the contents. “Chargers... oh and some bleach for me to drink after I realize you haven’t bought anything for me, how thoughtful of you.” She handed his basket back to him with narrowed eyes and picked her own back up, hoisting her mighty purse over one arm.

  
“Well, what did you get?” Will asked after an awkward moment of silence.

  
“Oh! You do care!” Grelle exclaimed. “My little Will, always teasing me all the time! Aha~,” she giggled, presenting her chosen items to him.

  
Cold brew coffee, cigarettes, extra vape pods in nightmarish flavors, over-processed sugary snacks that made Will wince, and condoms of various sizes. “I forgot to ask what size you are,” Grelle winked.

  
Will furrowed his brow. “Size?”

  
“Yeah,” Grelle nodded. She absentmindedly twirled a lock of crimson hair around one finger. “Venti dick, grande dick, you know.”

  
Will forced himself to grimace so he wouldn’t smile. Grelle’s sex jokes were especially cringeworthy, but an avid coffee drinker like him could appreciate that one. “I hope you’re aware we won’t be engaging in that sort of activity,” he grumbled.

  
Grelle waved away this insistency. “Well, a girl can dream, can’t she?” she giggled.

  
A sudden realization struck Will, and he mentally hit himself. “Damn it,” he sighed. “I forgot my credit card.”  
Grelle waved her hand in dismissal. “No worries, love. I’ll take care of it.”

  
“Really?” he asked. “That’s kind of you.”

  
She giggled in excitement. “Why! You shameless flirt! You embarrass me so!”

  
Will rolled his eyes.

  
“Just a second! Hold our place, will you?” Grelle leaned close to him, and whispered, “Run when I give the signal.”

  
“What?!” But Grelle was already to the wall. She stretched. Then pulled the fire alarm and dashed out the automatic double doors.

  
Will assumed that was the signal and sprinted after her.  
“What the hell?!” he shouted at the already panting Grelle. She had a strange way of running, with her arms bent out as if she was trying to run like a Victorian maiden. Whatever else it was, it wasn’t fast. “What did you just make me do?! What was that?!”

  
Grelle cackled loudly. The 2000s emo-esque chain on her hip jangled and bounced. “We’ve robbed a gas station, my love! Oh, we’re like Bonnie and Clyde! Outlaws enamored”-  
“Now I’m an accomplice to crime!” Will yelled. “What have you done?!”

  
Their footsteps slammed against the moist glowing pavement. Grelle breathed heavily as she began to fall behind. Her four inch heels may have been the cause of that.

  
“Honestly,” Will grunted, and grabbed Grelle’s free hand, letting her interlock their fingers if it would make her run faster.

  
“Lose the heels,” he ordered.

  
“Oh- These are Gucci!” Grelle spat at him.

  
“They’re damn knock-offs! Leave them, woman!” Will shouted at her.

  
She exclaimed in indignity but kicked them off, running the same pace as him in just her silk stockings.

  
“So rough with me! Your hand held around mine! Ah! I’ll dream about this for months!” Grelle screeched.

  
“For God’s sake woman, will you just shut up and run?!” Will yelled.

  
“How can I when you’re making my body give out like this!”  
Will groaned as they rounded a corner. “You need to do more endurance training!”

  
“Do it with me then! I’ll train all sorts of muscles all night with you!” Grelle shouted in glee. Her face was flushed with excitement and passion. “Ah- the demanding way you grab me! I love it!”

  
Will yanked Grelle’s hand to speed her up. “Go faster!” he harshly encouraged. “You’re awfully slow for someone who thinks she can get away with robbery!”

  
“But Will, my feet hurt,” she whined, doing a weird sort of hop and skip pattern along the rough sidewalk. “Carry me?”

  
“Never in a goddamn million years will I carry you!” They rounded a second corner and Will recognized the faint glow of the laundromat in the distance. His hand and Grelle’s were still clasped together. Her hand was still warm but drier now. The human contact was... nice.

  
But of course he would never tell Grelle that.


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh, what a magical night!” Grelle exclaimed, twirling around and clutching her hands to her chest. “I’ll be dreaming about the way you held me for weeks! That desperate touch- the rough grip you have- oh, Will, I’m positively giddy!”

Will rubbed his eyes under his glasses. Grelle’s... ‘positive attitude’ was infuriating, but one sort of grew used to it after an hour or two. Her blatant and borderline harassive compliments had become less annoying, at least. Will still wasn’t sure if she was serious or if it was some sort of sarcasm. He narrowed his emerald eyes. “I merely grabbed your hand because you are a slow runner, Miss Sutcliff. It meant nothing.”

Grelle smirked and swiveled her hips slightly. “Ah, ever cold to me, aren’t you, love?”

He ignored this and set his work shirt stained the color of dried blood in the shopping basket with his other items, folding it neatly. The stolen shopping basket- god. Will huffed and made a mental note to return it with a small anonymous donation later. The dark-haired man nodded to his unfortunate companion. “Thank you for your assistance, Grelle. I’ll be on my way now.”

“Wait!!” Grelle shrieked in a furiously high-pitched voice that made Will think his ears would soon start to bleed. “You don’t possibly think you’re getting out of here without my number, are you? I wouldn’t be myself if I didn’t give it to such a handsome man as you!”

He gave her a judgmental look.

She wilted slightly. “Ah... and you’ll need to return my shirt, after all! That’s one of my favorite ones, I can’t have you making out with it- instead of me!”

“... Making out?”

“You know, making out with a shirt? As in you take it?” She frowned a bit. “Is that not a saying?”

Will adjusted his glasses in the same manner one would roll their eyes. “Not the way you say it.”

Grelle shrugged. “In any matter, you still need my number, Will!”

She bent over her shopping cart, showcasing the rear end of her old burgundy jeans to him. Will averted his eyes. There suddenly seemed to be shockingly little places to look other than Grelle’s (honestly, flat, but not in a bad way, he supposed) ass. She quickly popped back up holding a tube of red eyeliner. To match her hair, Will supposed. “Let me write my number on your arm!” she proposed. “It’ll wash off easy, and this is the nice kind that doesn’t smudge!”

Will racked his mind for an alternative. He was too sleep-deprived to think of any. “Fine,” he relented, and rolled up the sleeve of the black band sweatshirt to his elbow.

Grelle squealed in excitement, uncapped the pen, and started scribbling her number on the sensitive skin of his forearm. She gripped his elbow with her iron clamp of a hand and lowered her face very close to write. The eyeliner was wet and unpleasant-feeling, and tickled him a little. Grelle dashed out the sequence of letters in untidy red marks. Her hot breath brushed against his arm.

This was far too intimate.

When she finished writing, she planted a kiss on his wrist and patted his arm. “There we go,” she added contentedly.

Will’s eyes widened at the sudden unexpected kiss. “Don’t- don’t kiss me,” he insisted, drawing back his arm in half-baked defiance. His words were shakier than usual. He attributed this to how late it was. “I’m not interested. At all.” The red lipstick mark stood out with the phone number against his skin like blood on his work shirt. 

Grelle’s slightly smudged red lips formed a pout. “Well then! I’m not one to force a man, that wouldn’t be ladylike of me in the slightest, but he could at least show a little more gratitude for the woman who took the time out of her night in scandalous hours to show him around.”

Will exhaled deeply in an attempt to calm his heart, which was beating a whole two beats per minute faster. “And I’m very thankful for that, Miss Sutcliff. But I really must be going now. I have an important meeting in the morning. So, thank you, and goodnight.” He headed- a bit faster than he normally would have- out of the laundromat.

“Can’t I offer to drive you home?” Grelle called after him.

“I have my own car, thank you,” he responded.

“Won’t you text me?” she whined.

“When I get home, yes,” Will replied, half to get rid of her incessant comments. “Goodbye!” And closed the door behind him.

Grelle crossed her arms and huffed. “Well!” she exclaimed. “He really hasn’t the faintest how to treat a fine lady like moi. Oh, but that icy cold stare!” she swooned, draping herself over a dryer. “It’s like he’s seeing right through my clothes! Ah, how naughty of you, Will! Have you no shame?!” Grelle squealed in anticipation and took a long drag from a freshly lit cigarette. “Ah, Will,” she sighed. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Will’s apartment made for an organized- if ever so slightly unwelcoming- homecoming. Books were neatly stacked on nearly every available surface. His pet ferrets Stanford and Stanley were asleep in their crates, humming softly. Everything was just as he had left it.  
He yawned and locked the door behind him, setting the stolen laundry basket with his stained shirt and stolen gas station items on the kitchen table. As he ventured to his bedside table to charge his dead phone, he glanced at the clock. 3:01. Will sighed. He was going to be so exhausted at the meeting tomorrow.

His phone was busy reviving itself, so he went into his minimalist bathroom to brush his teeth, wash his face, that sort of thing. He caught a glimpse of a face in the mirror. Surely that couldn’t be… his. Will peered closer to examine it. No, it didn’t look much like him at all. This man had bags underneath his eyes, his hair hung messily in his face, and his emo sweatshirt hugged broad shoulders in a rather whorish way. Not him at all.

Will groaned and tried to brush his hair back, but it was in vain. A few minutes later, he returned to pick up his phone, which had reanimated itself back to 4%. He pulled up the sleeve on Grelle’s sweatshirt. Thankfully, the numbers were still legible. For whatever reason, his fingers shook the smallest bit as he typed in her number. He convinced himself it was only exhaustion, and for the message itself, he wrote, “This is William T. Spears. Is this Grelle Sutcliff?”

He set his phone down on a nightstand and took his shoes off. Seconds after he’d finished that, the apartment was illuminated with a notification.

“it certainly is!!” Grelle had written back, not two minutes after he’d sent it. “hello Will darling!!!!”

He had half a mind to lecture her about proper capitalization and punctuation in texts.

“ah, the mystery of just your cold, blunt words without your cold, handsome face!!” Another unwelcome text pinged. “perhaps it’s just the scandalous nighttime hours speaking, but my body’s shaking all over!!!!”

Will winced as he settled into bed. He was too tired to change into pajamas, so his borrowed top and work pants would have to do. “Have you never heard of proper conversational conduct?” he wrote back. “And, Miss Sutcliff, you should be asleep. It’s not healthy to stay up so late.”

His eyes closed for a blissful half minute before the sudden brightness of a new message forced them open. “you make me blush!” it read. “what a gentleman to care for my health like that!!” Will could almost hear these words in her pitchy, shrieking voice.

He simply replied, out of a lack of ideas of what to say and utter exhaustion, “Goodnight.”

Barely ten seconds passed before her reply of, “sweet dreams my dearest will!!!!”  
Will yawned and set his phone, face-down, on the nightstand. He took off his glasses and placed them adjacent. It was a matter of minutes before he drifted off into quiet, monochrome dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i  
> am  
> SORRY

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

  
Will’s eyes hazily lifted open at the insistent chirping of his alarm clock. He squinted at the glowing red numbers. 7:00 am.  
He groaned and turned over in bed. Four hours of sleep- if even that- was not nearly enough. He would have to sleep more tomorrow night, he supposed. But then he’d be late on his work, so he’d have to stay up late- oh god it was all just a vicious cycle, wasn’t it? And now his entire weekly routine was thrown off. Hell of a way to start a Monday morning, he thought to himself.

  
Will reached over and pressed the off button on the alarm. To his relief, the cursed chirping suddenly ceased. After he put on his glasses, he picked up his phone and noticed a virtual barrage of notifications to sort through.

  
142 texts from one Grelle Sutcliff.

  
He rubbed his eyes and unlocked his phone. The blue light helped him wake up anyway. From looking through her messages, he gathered that she wasn’t able to sleep and so decided to spam him with dozens of ideas for meeting again. At first they were under the pretense of returning her shirt, which Will glanced down and remembered he was still wearing. It smelled like her. Like perfume and sweat, but strangely spicy somehow.

  
Grelle’s ideas included but were certainly not limited to meeting at Will’s house, at her house, any number of nice restaurants, and ‘in her dreams.’ There were also several of her trademark inappropriate euphemisms, and she appeared to go off on a tangent and quote from Hamlet and Macbeth for an hour. She particularly enjoyed relating herself to the characters of Ophelia and Lady Macbeth.  
Will raised a thin eyebrow and hoped she wouldn’t encourage him to murder his company rivals.

  
A few texts later, she did.

  
Will sighed, set down his phone, and decided to debate different methods of returning Grelle’s shirt to her as he got dressed. He tossed said top (that was really putting him through the ringer, to be honest) in the washing machine and replaced it with a crisp fresh dress shirt. Perhaps he could drive to Grelle’s place and return it to her? No, he decided. Grelle would be insistent on inviting him in and he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn't be taken hostage. He got dressed with the most dead inside essence you could ever imagine. Will wasn’t sure if he was even fully conscious during all of it. He only retained blurred memories of putting on his tie, brushing his hair, and cooking toast. He could ask her to come to his apartment and return her shirt to her there, but the idea of giving Grelle his home address made him shudder.

  
They could meet somewhere, he thought. Maybe that nice tea shop on 49 ½ street. Nice enough so that she wouldn’t have an excuse not to be professional, but casual enough that she wouldn’t mistake it for a date. Hopefully.

  
On the bus on his way to work, he texted Grelle about his plan: “Would you like to meet me at the tea shop on 49 ½ street at 7pm tonight so that I can return your sweatshirt?”

  
He hadn’t even set his phone down when she replied, “so forward, oh my! you’re so commanding yet considerate it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside!! of course!! it’s a date, gorgeous!!!!”

  
“It most certainly is not,” Will messaged back. “If it gives you a better idea of the manners you should have, think of it as a business meeting. I don’t have the time to stay longer than ten minutes anyway.” Lie. He didn’t have much going on tonight other than a burning desire to spend as little time with Grelle as possible.

  
“you’d be surprised what I can do in ten minutes ;),” she wrote back immediately.

* * *

Will pushed up his glasses with a pen and opened a binder full of accounting information. “As you all know,” he began, “this meeting’s purpose is to go over our yearly budget…” He frowned. “Honestly, Ronald. What is so important it gets all your attention during this important time? Would you like to share it with us?”

  
The yellow-haired ex-intern glanced up in panic from the paper he’d been doodling on, and frantically tried to cover it up. “Uh, nope! All’s good here, boss!” he laughed hastily. “The budget- interesting stuff, really captivating. Tell us more about that- ah, fuck,” he cursed as Eric snatched the paper away. Ronald crossed his arms and pouted.

  
Eric raised an eyebrow and snickered, showing Ronald’s new modern art to Will. The young American had drawn a crude cartoonish Will with a prominent stick up the drawing’s butt in a vaguely anime style.

  
“I can’t believe you’ve done this,” Ronald protested in a sudden poor imitation of a British accent. Which was a little strange since they were in Britain, but he was American. Knowing him, it was probably a quote from some young person’s thing. Will squinted at the cartoon and sighed. “So immature.”

  
“BUTT STICK, BUTT STICK, BUTT STICK!” Ronald and the others chanted, banging on the table and laughing.

  
Will groaned quietly. “Really… Do all of you insist on being such children? Speaking of which, Sascha, please get out of Ludger’s lap. You have your own chair for a reason.”

  
“Neverrrr,” Sascha cackled, wrapping Ludger’s arms around themself. “I live here now.” Ludger gave Will a look of apathetic acceptance of his situation.

  
Will crumpled up the paper with the rude drawing and threw it in a wastebasket. “I hope you all like overtime.”

  
“You motherfucker,” Ronald grumbled under his breath, pout becoming more defined. Sascha rolled their muddy green eyes behind archaic round glasses in agreement.

  
Will endeavored to stay calm and not slap a bitch. “I have never done that to anyone’s mother.”

  
Eric wheezed, then said in a slightly faded Scottish accent, “Yeah, cause you’re nearing thirty and still haven’t gotten laid”-

  
“That is absolutely none of your business, Slingby,” Will snapped. “Really. And you should realize that, especially in modern society, asexuality and the choice to remain separate from romantic entanglement should be respected.”

  
Sascha tilted their head. “I didn’t know you were ace.”

  
Will sighed. “Jury’s still out,” he muttered to himself. He cleared his throat. “And as to the extra overtime, I won’t hesitate”-

  
“Bitch!” a small voice piped up from the corner of the room. Othello waved at him from behind a Nintendo switch. Ronald high fived the short green-haired man and grinned broadly.

  
Will pushed up his glasses and continued, “In other news, Alan Humphries is out sick again, so we’ll need Ludger and Sascha to cover his workload.”

  
(If Grelle had been there, she certainly would have said something like, ‘I think Eric’s already got taking Alan’s load down to a fine art.’)

  
“Oh, Will, he texted me this morning to say he’s got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow afternoon,” Eric added. “If it’s any consolation, he says he’s very sorry to be missing so much work.”

  
“For goodness’ sake,” Will sighed. “He really should get that under control.”

“It’s not exactly something he can control!” Eric snapped. “He’s trying harder than any of you, anyway!”

  
Will couldn’t have reacted less if Eric had offered him a soothing cup of tea, handed him the next month’s paperwork done perfectly in advance, and then left. Meanwhile, Sascha hugged Ludger in panic and Ronald nodded. “Is this because of your massive fucking crush on him?” he drawled.

  
“I do not have a crush on Alan,” the Scotsman insisted. “And frankly, it’s none of your business whether I do or not”-

  
“Whenever someone says that, it always means they do,” Othello interjected. He leaned closer and stared at Eric. “I expect to hear all the dirty details about your crush on him.”

  
Will grimaced. Othello almost sounded like- shudder- Grelle. Oh god, she’d be so obsessed with this, it’d be sickening. Thankfully, he was drawn out of this line of thought by Eric saying, “I absolutely do not have a crush on him. I’m not even into men.”

  
Ronald stared at Eric for a good thirty seconds before he burst out laughing. “You?! A heterosexual?” Ronald wheezed. “You once said Will had a nice ass! At 8 am on a Monday!”

  
Will’s head snapped up from poring over papers. “What?”

  
“There is absolutely nothing gay about noticing that another man has a nice ass,” Eric grunted, fighting back a grin. (It was the majority-agreed office opinion that Will had the best ass. Unfortunately, it would never be used. But they lived in hope of the right lady).

  
(Elsewhere, Grelle grinned wickedly.)

  
“Yeah there is,” Othello said, not looking up from Animal Crossing.

  
Will took a deep breath. “If we could please get back to the meeting, I have several important documents for you all to look over”-

  
“We all know you’re bi, Eric, and we all love and accept you, and we’ve known since the day you started working here, and we all know you just panicked and said you weren’t gay so you wouldn’t have to keep talking about your sweetheart named Alan,” Ludger said in a thick German accent.

  
The others stared at him for at least a minute.

  
“The point is, Eric is bi, and we need to set him up with Alan!” Ronald declared, standing up and raising his fist in the air.

  
“Sit down. The point is we are going over the yearly budget,” Will snapped, hitting Ronald over the head with a rolled-up newspaper.

  
“Ronald is right! They have to be together! Lady Fate demands it!” Othello declared, channeling his inner theater kid.

  
“The only thing Lady Fate demands is to file our tax reports,” Will grumbled. "Now, if you'll direct your attention here..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> do i look like i know what happens in my own writing?? curses!

The door to his apartment swung open with an empty creak, and Will walked inside to be greeted by his twin ferrets and nothing else. He set his bag on the kitchen table, patted both the cylindrical creatures’ soft heads, and collapsed on the stiff sofa. Stanford and Stanley jumped on his stomach, making him groan. “It’s not your dinner time yet,” Will lectured them, in a much more patient and understanding tone than he’d ever used with any of his coworkers. He checked his watch. “You two eat at 6:15, it’s only 5:43.”

The ferrets remained in blissful ignorance of this fact and bobbed their heads eagerly, awaiting their dinner. Will petted them and laid down on the sofa, running through the remaining events of the day in his head. Let’s see… the ferrets’ dinner was at 6:15, his cursed tea with Grelle was at 7:00, so he’d have to leave at 6:45. “Oh, that reminds me,“ he muttered to himself, getting up (and, to their utter indignity, displacing the ferrets). He took Grelle’s now soggy shirt out of the washing machine and threw it in the dryer, praying the cycle would be finished by the time he had to leave.

He decided to kill the remaining hour by going through his emails and cleaning up his apartment. However, since he did these things whenever he needed to kill some time, it only took about ten minutes. Will passed the next half hour after that by watching a nature documentary that was currently highlighting macaws. They almost reminded him of Grelle. Red, flamboyant, and very noisy. He furrowed his brow at the thought.

After that, he fed his ferrets, who were acting as if they were starving little Victorian children who hadn’t eaten in many moons. Will could almost swear he heard Stanford squeak, “Ah, but Father is cruel and deprives us of food, keeping us on our last legs so that ever we depend on him, eheu!”

The nature documentary had moved on to birds of paradise by now. “The male Vogelkop, found in Western New Guinea, has unique courtship characteristics that distinguish it from other similar-looking birds of paradise…” the narrator driveled on. Honestly, it was like every bird they focused on was just a metaphor for Grelle. This bird’s mating dance mostly consisted of seizures and flapping wildly close to the smaller female bird’s face. Also very Grelle-esque, he huffed to himself.

Will thought about changing into another (virtually identical) suit, but decided against it. She wasn’t worth the extra effort, and it’s not like she would have noticed anyway. Given what he had seen of her laundry collection on the night they met, she wasn’t really one for professional attire.

He briefly emailed his coworkers to distribute extra work and overtime, then took Grelle’s sweatshirt out of the dryer. The warm fabric felt very soft and soothing. Will resisted the primal urge to rub it against his face like a sunning cat.  
He folded her sweater tightly, then set it neatly in a paper bag. On his way out, he petted his ferrets, locked the door, and cursed the incompetence of the tenant next to him who insisted on playing loud rock music all day long.

***

Grelle let out a contented sigh as Ran-Mao finished applying the green sludge of the face mask to her cheeks. “It’s been forever since we had a girl’s day,” she added cheerfully. “Ah!” She clasped her hands together. “The most important part of every sleepover”-

“It’s ten in the morning,” Ran-Mao replied flatly, a thin layer of matching green goo covering her face. She blinked, long lashes seeming as if any minute they would gain sentience and flap away.

Grelle waved her freshly manicured hand in dismissal. “But it’s still nice to have the day together with my girls!”

Claude groaned. “I ask you again, why am I here?” Oh handsome! she thought. Why be so concerned with technicalities like ‘why am I here’ and ‘who are you’ and ‘Grelle no that’s flammable’.

Ran-Mao narrowed her large eyes at him. Claude’s extra foot of height on her did nothing to keep him from cowering before her.

“Oh, but it is nice to be all together like this, yes!” Mey-Rin nodded enthusiastically. Her round spectacles standing out from the mint-colored face mask almost made her seem like an insect. Her cheerful attitude and adorable face was a must in any girl’s night, Grelle thought. Never mind the fact that it was 10am and they had to run some errands later.

“Now, as one positively must do during a sleepover,” Grelle continued, despite that it wasn’t a sleepover in the slightest but who cares about that, “tell me all about your latest romantic affairs!!” So that she could gain hope for her own life, she cackled to herself.

Ran-Mao pulled Mey-Rin into her lap. The latter blushed behind her drying face mask. “I’m still dating her,” Ran-Mao declared matter-of-factly.

Grelle clapped enthusiastically. “Good for you two!! I’ve always loved you as a couple! Men are so tiresome anyway! Who needs them?”

“I do,” Claude muttered under his breath, hugging his knees to his chest. Ran-Mao nuzzled Mey-Rin’s hair as Grelle gasped with little decorum.

“Oh my!” she gasped. “What gorgeous man has caused your head to spin this time!” She rested her head on her wrists and smiled toothily. If Claude was having a new affair, she simply had to know.

Claude sighed and halfheartedly pushed Grelle away. “I’m definitely not going to talk about it with you.”

Grelle pouted. “Please? Come on! Tell me! Tell me tell me tell me!”

“No,” Claude said.

“Please?”

“No,” he groaned. “Leave me be, woman.”

Grelle threw back her head and shadowed it with her thin hand as if struck in the heart with an arrow. She was an actress at heart, and all the world’s a stage, after all. “You wound me! I thought we were the best of friends, o Claude, since you have friendzoned me so many times! Dost thine mean to say thy did not desire to be best bros with me?! Ah! How shall I ever recover?” she lamented, lying on the shag carpet and letting out a comical death gurgle.

Mey-Rin laughed and Claude held back a giggle. Grelle sat up and mock bowed before turning to him again. “So, tell me?”

“No,” Claude snorted.

Grelle scoffed. “And after the performance of a lifetime! Really, Claude?!”

“You should be in the theater, yes!” Mey-Rin piped up. “You’d make a lovely Ophelia or Lady Macbeth!”

Grelle squealed in excitement and nodded enthusiastically. “I love the theater so! It stole my heart as a young girl and hasn’t let go since!”

“Community theater,” Ran-Mao said.

Mey-Rin nodded. Her and her girlfriend seemed to have an almost telepathic connection where Mey-Rin could spin coherent sentences out of Ran-Mao’s blunt phrases. “There’s an adorable little theater I know, yes! Sphere Music Hall! Any acting troupe would be lucky to have your skills!”

Grelle hugged them and screech-laughed. “Perhaps I shall!” she exclaimed. “Ah, what wisdom and love during a girl’s night!”

“How wonderful,” Claude uttered dryly.

***

“Let’s see,” the redhead muttered to herself. “How does one raise awareness for a charity bedding drive without making it sound perverted?” She had thought that adding perversion might be a selling point- it was certainly her strongest one, haha- but Ran-Mao had given her a look that had made her reconsider all her life choices leading up to that point.

Grelle leaned back in her plush bed and huffed. She tilted her head to the side. “Bring us your old mattresses, please, please, we really need them?” she mused. “No, begging in such a wanton fashion won’t make us seem like professionals at all.” She giggled.

“Bedding drive, make sure that old mattress you don’t want to keep because it reminds you of your unfaithful ex goes to a good cause, we’ll wash it thoroughly and you deserve a fresh start anyway?” she mused. Grelle adjusted her glasses. “That might work. Little less wordy though, love, skip the foreplay.”

When Grelle was finished with it, the digital poster read “Bedding and mattress drive at the Angelina Dalles Women’s Shelter! All day from Friday 13th to Monday 16th! Make sure that mattress you want to get rid of because it reminds you of your ex goes to a good cause!” Then she’d put a list of accepted items, their address, some pictures of what they needed, etc.

Grelle was their self-appointed social media manager, and she did her job well. Except for that one time she’d accidentally sent out a message from the company account instead of her own personal one. Well, she thought, it could have been much worse. On the scale of Grelle’s raunchy social media posts, a picture of an anime character she liked captioned ‘dat ass’ could have been far, far, far, far worse.

“Ah! It’s almost time for my date with that lovely boy!” she exclaimed, glancing at the clock. Not really, since it was in two hours, but a girl needed her sweet time to get ready.  
Grelle started blaring a disastrous mix of pop music and heavy metal and examined herself in the full-length ornate mirror in her bedroom. She squished her face and made silly faces for at least two minutes until she got a hold of herself.

“Let’s see,” she muttered, and swiveled her hips around to find the best angle for them. “Sexy,” Grelle grinned. (If anyone says they haven’t done this, they’re lying).

Grelle started to go through her closet for the best outfit to wear for this date. Will would insist it wasn’t a date- of course he would, silly boy- but she knew better. Any time an enamored couple gets together, it’s automatically a date!

Given Will’s personality, she hummed, he’d either go for a professional outfit or something so wildly inappropriate as to make him vapidly blush.

Fifteen minutes later, she had picked out a lacy red bra- the very one she had flashed Will with on the amorous night they met, an extremely low-cut old cast t-shirt for her college production of Wicked (she made a wonderful Elphaba, of course, though she didn't much care for that green color), a striped formal shirt to wear underneath, ripped burgundy jeans that were more air than they were denim, fishnets for underneath, and her favorite crimson heels, after she’d realized she was still wearing the fluffy cat slippers that handsome Michaelis had given her for her birthday a year or two ago. Speaking of...

“Sebastian!” she called. “My little Sebas!!”

Sebastian obediently trotted into Grelle’s room and began rubbing against her leg. Grelle giggled and scratched him under the chin. “Ah, there you are! Always teasing me all the time, aren’t you, oh whoosa good boy, yes you are, yes you are!!”

Sebastian (who was a rather plump Chow Chow with a red spiked collar and a cuddly personality, not to be confused with Sebastian, the stripper pole of a man who refused to wear any sort of collar but possessed a very spiky personality) let his blue tongue loll out of his mouth and panted heavily. Grelle, in perhaps the peak of her pettiness, while staring Sebastian the man dead in the eyes at the dog shelter, had named the puppy after him.

“My Sebastian,” she had said, then glared at Michaelis. “The Sebastian that loves me. The Sebastian that cares about me.”

In the present, Grelle patted the puppy on his fluffy head and gave him his overly fancy dinner. She admitted she spoiled him a bit, but it couldn’t be helped! Her Sebastian was just such a sweetheart she couldn’t stop herself from doing things such as making them matching outfits, letting him eat at the table with her, and the like.

She changed into her date outfit and cackled as she stood in front of the mirror. Oh, this was sure to short-circuit that square’s brain. She still considered it very modest- after all, Grelle was a classy lady, Will would have to woo her if he wanted more than a whiff of tit.

Grelle styled her hair and painstakingly applied her false eyelashes and makeup. She took special care to use the red eyeliner that she’d used to scribble her number on Will’s arm. The redhead grinned broadly at her reflection in the mirror. This would be a night to remember.


	7. chapter 7: it's not a date, but isn't it, so just shut up willim and love her like she deserves to be loved

Will liked the tea shop on 49 ½ street. It was quiet, professional, and had a pleasant Victorian air about it that made something inside him smile. Their black tea was especially good, he thought. Maybe if Grelle left early, he’d buy a cup. But, he sighed, that didn’t seem especially likely to happen. If last night was any indication, she’d try to coerce him into a romantic date. Will shuddered at the thought. He didn’t really ‘date’, and especially not with someone as repulsive as her.

He looked through the windows of the shop and was dismayed to see a flamboyant redhead enthusiastically waving back at him. He only narrowed his eyes in return. She’d already parked herself on one end of a table for two inside and was sipping on a cup of over-sweetened green tea. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like she was going to get up and meet him outside.

Will sighed and pushed open the door, cheerful chimes ringing to welcome him inside. The moment his shoe hit the battered wood of the shop’s floor, a piercing voice cried out, “Will! William!”

Grelle waved at him like she was trying to conjure him. Will had no choice but to nod at her and head the way of the tempestuous redhead.

He stood next to her table and set the brown paper bag that contained her neatly folded sweatshirt beside her tea. She scrambled to open it and seemed to be satisfied when she regained her shirt. “Ah! And washed too! You’re so considerate, darling!” she fawned over him. Her voice was all too familiar. “I can only imagine how much of a gentleman you are to the girls you let sleep over!”

“Speculating about such vulgar matters…” Will pushed his glasses up. “Most people keep that to themselves.”

Grelle winked and ran her tongue over her red lips, accidentally removing a bit of her lipstick. “I’m not most people, love.”

Seeing that she’d accidentally licked away a surprising amount of her crimson lipstick made the corner of Will’s mouth twitch up. He fought the involuntary laugh; she would only interpret it as him wanting to stay.

Will cleared his throat. “Miss Sutcliff, I’m afraid I must go, so”-

Grelle whipped her head up from her teacup and pouted malevolently at him (Up until now, Will wasn’t aware one could pout malevolently, but she did it well). “Now?!” she exclaimed in shock. “But- but you’ve only just got here! It’s quite rude of you to do this, I’ll have you know! Especially to a lady who spent ages getting ready for you!”

Will racked his brain for a convenient excuse. “I have some projects I have to finish for work”-

“Well, so do I!” Grelle protested. “Doesn’t mean you can’t live a little, darling! Come on. Be a bad boy and skip class with me, hmm?”

Will sighed, suddenly very grateful that he and Grelle had gone to different schools all their lives. “If so, you should be working on your projects, Grelle. Not fooling around like a teenager.”

She squealed. “Ah! That cruel discipline! You romance me so!”

Will resisted the urge to hit her over the head with a newspaper like he had Ronald earlier. “Honestly. Have some decency, woman,” he groaned. “Don’t you have an ounce of self-respect?”

“Hmph! Now that you have insulted me, you definitely owe me tea!” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose as she tilted her head downward to gaze into her teacup. Will instinctively started to reach toward her face to push them back up, but stopped before his hand left his pocket. They didn’t know each other that well, he reminded himself, and besides, there’s no telling what wanton ways she’d react.

Will took a deep breath and sat opposite her. Grelle grinned widely, showcasing shark-like teeth, and revealing cute dimples on her cheeks. He hadn’t noticed those before. Will mentally hit himself for thinking of any part of Grelle as ‘cute.’ Part of him felt like she’d be able to sense the compliment from his thoughts and telepathically harass him.

“Fine,” he sighed. “As recompense for inadvertently insulting you, I will stay for a few more minutes. But please do not consider this as any sort of ‘date’.”

“Dope,” Grelle grinned.

Will ordered a black tea, as dark and bitter as his soul, and looked at Grelle with piercing emerald eyes as she nervously twirled a lock of hair around one thin finger.

“You’re rather quiet for someone who wanted me to stay so insistently,” Will observed, taking a sip of his tea. He wished it was vodka or something so he wouldn’t have to be fully aware of this guaranteed disaster of a meeting. Of course, then he’d have to take a car home. Will wondered what the bus schedules were tonight but was broken away from this train of thought by Grelle’s nervous laughter.

“Well, what can I say?” She fluffed up her hair with her free hand. “I get nervous around handsome men like you!” She put extra emphasis on the ‘you’ so that her voice was in an entirely different octave by the time she finished the word.

Will gave her a judgmental look and drank more tea.

Grelle laughed awkwardly. “Uhm, uh…” she tapped her fingers anxiously on her teacup in an arrhythmic pattern. “So… what does a gorgeous man like you do for a living?” She leaned closer in intrigue.

“I work at a nonprofit,” Will replied matter-of-factly. She didn’t need to know any more than that. He didn’t want her showing up at his work, shudder.

“Ah! I manage a women’s shelter!” Grelle exclaimed. She clapped in excitement. “We’re so alike, you and me! It’s simply written in the stars!”

Will’s eyebrows raised a millimeter at hearing her occupation. If that was the truth, she was far more… upstanding and capable than he’d thought. Well, she had to have a job or some sort, he supposed. Most likely she’d ended up at the women’s shelter and gotten promoted for having so much experience living there. (This wasn’t the kindest thought, but Will wasn’t the kindest person).

“I fear for the shelter,” Will said dryly, and took a sip of his bitter tea.

Grelle made a “hmph!” noise and crossed her wrists over each other. Her heavy bracelets and rings clanked against the wooden table, echoing her disdain for Will’s comment.   
“How rude! Just because I’m a flamboyant woman doesn’t mean I can’t be serious if need be!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Miss Sutcliff,” Will replied in his signature monotonous drawl.

“Hmph!” Grelle pouted. “I’ll show you serious!” She straightened her spine and assumed a rather comical deadpan expression that was somehow an extension of her earlier pout.

A traitorous smile pulled at Will’s lips. He hid his mouth behind his gloved hand and tried not to laugh.

“See?!” Grelle declared in her ‘serious face’. “I can be profes”- She was put off by Will’s quiet laughter. “Oh, now you decide to laugh?!”

“Sorry,” Will wheezed. It had been… ages since he’d laughed. It wasn’t something he made a habit of doing, and when he did, it was nearly always accidental. He cleared his throat and wrapped his hands around the warm teacup.

Grelle waved away imaginary concerns with her manicured hand and continued drinking her tea.  
Will eyed Grelle’s questionable red ensemble that he thought was more billowy flesh than skin. She dressed like every worst part of 2000s fashion and Victorian suits mashed into one unholy Wicked cast t-shirt with a striped collared shirt underneath.

Grelle took a sip of tea and her thick red hair accidentally landed in it. “Oh, goodness,” she mumbled, fishing the lock of hair out of her green tea and squeezing it dry with a napkin. “What were you saying, Will love?” she asked as she fished little red strands out of the teacup.

“I wasn’t saying anything,” Will replied.

“Well, could you?” Grelle smiled impatiently, growing frustrated from trying to remove all the hair from her tea. “I can’t always be on top of you, you know!”

“Why are you… the way that you are?”

Grelle smirked and made an antiquated punk hand sign. “ANIME✰!” she exclaimed.

Will stared at her.

The redhead laughed and tilted her head to one side. “To think of it, Will,” she mused, “I haven’t eaten my dinner yet today, and I’m positively ravenous. Shall we go out to a proper restaurant together, darling?”

“They have food here,” Will said apathetically, and pushed up his glasses. “If you’re hungry, go buy a sandwich or something.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. “So cold! I’ll have you know, I take back what I said about you being a gentleman!”

Will couldn’t have cared less.

Grelle quickly surrendered to her growling stomach, walked up to the counter, and purchased a small salad in a plastic bowl. She returned to her and Will’s table, popped it open, and began pouring a horrific amount of poppyseed salad dressing all over it.

“I see you don’t have any self control when it comes to salad, either,” Will said. Come to think of it, he was hungry too. He couldn’t imagine how he’d forgotten to eat earlier. It must have just slipped through the cracks.

Grelle shrugged. “Yeah, and? It’s just flavorless without it,” she replied before shoveling a forkful of poppyseed-coated leaves into her mouth. They were soon pulverized by her lipstick-smudged shark teeth.

Will sighed. “Wait for me.” Ignoring Grelle’s wanton cries, he went up to the counter and stood in line behind a strange tall man with a top hat bent out of shape and a long black cloak over six inch heels. Unwashed gray hair reached nearly to his knees, though it was hard to tell just where his knees were through all the dark gray fabric.

“Ah… four boxes of the oolong tea, please,” the strange man giggled. “And… four of the jasmine. Oh myyyy, what a lovely selection you have.”

Will glanced down at his phone to check his emails. Nothing especially interesting, just some questions from Othello he’d have to respond to later. When he looked back up, the strange gray-haired man was staring him dead in the eyes with an inquisitive expression on his face.

“Er- hello,” Will managed. “Is something the matter”-

The gray-haired Undertaker reached a long painted nail toward Will’s face and poked his nose, giggling furiously after. Before Will could react, Undertaker gathered his boxes of tea, and left the line. He swept off his hat in a gallant exit bow, revealing a small nest of baby birds that had made their home under his hat. A navy blue-haired man in a suit was waiting for him outside, and they walked off together awkwardly holding hands.

Strange encounters aside, Will reached the front of the line and bought one small kale salad. He sat back next to Grelle, who was very excited at his return, and started eating the kale.

Grelle made a loud puzzled noise. “You- you aren’t going to put anything on it?”

“Why would I?” Will replied as he took another bite of his plain kale. Like a monster.

“Because- because it’s KALE!” Grelle protested, waving her hands about wildly. “It’s disgusting! People only pretend to like it to seem healthy!”

Will shrugged. “I like it by itself.”

She shivered and leaned away from him. “You’re a terrifying man, William.” But then she edged closer, so he supposed he wasn’t all that terrifying. “I do like an intimidating man, though,” she mused. “So beautiful- oh, speaking of which, did you see that dreadful man with the gray hair and the weird hat?”

Will nodded and ate more plain kale.

“That’s my ex I told you about, remember?” Grelle blushed. “I was hiding behind the plant”- she pointed to a large potted fern in the corner- “until he left. A man fakes his death so you won’t be dating anymore, and you figure he probably wants to cut things off.” She laughed nervously then sank into her seat in a sulky mood.

“It might not have been you,” Will replied ambivalently. “I think he’s got a boyfriend now.” He really wasn’t one to gossip, but Grelle had this strange way of drawing it out of him.

Grelle whipped her head up and stared at him. “Really?!” she shrieked. “What wretched man stole him from me?! Oh, I’ll just kill him”-

Will grabbed her wrist as she tried to leave. She turned back to him, face flushed almost as red as her hair. “Oh- oh my, Will, so”-

“Believe me, Miss Sutcliff,” Will said, adjusting his glasses with his free hand, “I have absolutely nothing against you leaving, but I can’t imagine it’s a good idea to turn you loose on the world like this.”

“Eh?” Grelle blinked in confusion. He let go of her wrist, to her dismay. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t finished your salad,” Will grumbled. “I can’t stop you from homicide, but I can at least make sure you eat.”

Grelle giggled and sat back down. “You’re so concerned for me, it’s flattering!”

“Not really,” Will sighed. He ate more plain kale.

The redhead made a puzzled face and stuck a forkful of dressing-covered lettuce in Will’s face. “Try a bite?” she asked with a smile that was probably supposed to be cute but was only vaguely unnerving. “It tastes better than that depressed and drunk spinach you’ve been eating.”

“Please get that out of my face.”

Grelle pouted and stuck the fork closer to Will’s mouth. “Come on, just a little bite! It won’t kill you!”

“It might,” Will sighed. “And what if I get drug tested tomorrow and it comes back positive for opiates?”

She stared at him and furrowed her thin eyebrows. “Do you get drug tested a lot?”

“.... No,” he admitted.

Grelle giggled. “You’ll be fine! I eat poppyseeds all the time and they’ve never caused me to test positive for opiates! I mean, I don’t think. I have tested positive before after eating them…” she grinned widely. “But that was probably the opium I smoked earlier that day!”

“Why am I not surprised,” he muttered to himself. Grelle waved the fork in front of his mouth. “Come on, here comes the airplane….” she made comical airplane noises as if Will was a toddler.

“This is humilia-MFFF” Will said as Grelle took his open mouth as an invitation to stick the abomination of a salad in. It tasted like over-saturated plants covered with sickly sweet plants. He spat it into a napkin and gave Grelle a death glare.

She didn’t seem to register his displeasure and went on about, “Oh, how romantic to eat together like this! I look forward to so many more dates in the future!”

“This won’t become a date no matter how much you keep insisting it is,” Will replied, cleaning the salad dressing off his mouth with a napkin.

Grelle smirked. “I beg to differ,” she purred. “I’m going to turn this into a relationship the same way we got the American government to legalize marijuana. I’m just gonna wear you down over time until you agree to date me.”

“As… horrible as that sounds,” Will said, pushing up his glasses, “there won’t be time to wear me down over.”

“Huh?!” Grelle stared at him, mouth hanging slightly open, her pearly white sharp teeth peeking out. A green leaf was caught between two of them. Honestly, did the woman have no manners at all? “Oh,” she chuckled, “yes there will, Will.”

“No… there won’t.” Will took a bite of kale.

Grelle’s voice took on a deeper, more sinister tone that almost made him shiver. “Bold of you to assume you’re in control, sweetheart.”

When they finally separated for the night, Grelle tried to give him a goodnight kiss on the cheek, but Will sidestepped and let her crash against the shop window. She bugged him about making plans for another “date”, and when he refused, shrugged and said that they would both simply have to go where the wind took them. Grelle clarified that this meant making date plans spontaneously and sped off in her red sports car- god, really? It was almost as shameless and flamboyant as she was- before Will could properly refuse her.


	8. Chapter 8

Rain gently fell outside the offices, turning the sky a soft gray and forcing the inhabitants of Conference Room #39 to rely on artificial lights only. Will liked the rain; it was soothing, smelled nice, and it often meant he could stay indoors curled up with his pet ferrets and a good book. But not today, he lamented. Today he was obligated to brief his fellow workers on the two new collaborations they’d be doing with a toy company and a shelter. They could do some good that way, he thought.

It had crossed his mind that the Angelina Dalles women’s shelter could be the same one Grelle had said she works at, but he dismissed the thought. London was big, and the chance of him getting assigned to work with her out of at least a dozen employees, out of at least hundreds of other women’s shelters, was so miniscule it wasn’t worth worrying about.

… He still worried about it a little.

“Everyone is here, I trust,” he muttered as he looked through the binder of papers he’d just been given by the higher-ups. A quick glance around the room reassured him that everyone was in their rightful place. Ronald, accompanied by iced coffee, was bored but at least in his seat. Sascha was in Ludger’s lap, but at least they were present and accounted for. Eric had been updating Alan on yesterday’s events, but now he was just doing lovelorn staring at the brunette as he looked through some spreadsheets. They were sitting awfully close together, Will noted. Good for them, the one unprofessional brain cell he had thought. Will pushed said brain cell back into its designated jail and looked at Othello, who was frantically yanking out his earbuds and pretending like he’d always been looking at Will.

Will cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. They always seemed to be slipping down the bridge of his nose. “Our organization has plans to collaborate with two others,” he read aloud. “The Funtom toy manufacturer and a local shelter called the Angelina Dalles women’s shelter. The six of us are being split up to work with each of them separately. Does anyone have any questions so far?”

Ronald raised his hand.

“Yes, Knox?”

“Yeah, what are we actually doing?” he asked in his American drawl with random pauses and emphasized syllables. “We all loove your vagueness, Senior, but it’s helpful if we actually know what we’re, ah, supposed to be doing? Y’know?” He was very expressive, waving his hands a lot as he spoke. 

Will nodded slightly in acknowledgement and closed his eyes momentarily. “Yes, that would be helpful. However, they’ve only laid out the bare minimum. I infer that whoever works with Funtom would work with donating toys to those in need, and whoever works with the women’s shelter would help grow it and give them the connections and funds they need. But you’ll likely have to figure much of it out yourselves. Does anyone have any requests for who they’d like to work with?”

Sascha raised their hand. “I’d love to work with the toy company!” they exclaimed. “It would be so cute! Think of all the bomb photos I could take with all the adorable plushies!”

Ludger nodded silently in agreement.

“Me too!” Ronald added. “I do have a soft spot for bunny stuffed animals, haha.”

“Sascha, Ludger, and Knox to work with Funtom,” Will muttered as he wrote their names down in annoyingly neat handwriting. “Alright, we need one more.”

“I’d love to,” Alan said. Everyone glanced at him in slight surprise, especially Eric.

Will didn’t react, even though he noted it was rather out of the ordinary for Alan not to request to be partnered with Eric.

“Ah, c’mon!” Ronald objected. He got up, grabbed both Eric and Alan’s shoulders, and pushed them together. The two looked away from each other. Eric was rather flushed. “Obviously our two lovebirds need to be together!”

“Sit down, Ronald,” Will ordered. The blonde reluctantly obeyed and slumped back down in his chair. “Now, if we could get on with business, that leaves Othello, Slingby, and myself to work with the women’s shelter.” He handed out the Funtom pamphlet to the other three, then returned with the other to the small group of himself, the green-haired geek, and the lovesick eighties punk.

Eric grabbed the pamphlet and read to the others. “Alright, says they take in hundreds of ladies in need around the London area… they are in desperate need of… wow, all sorts of things, and we could really help with that… oh, here’s a plan for meeting up.”

Will’s ears metaphorically perked up.

“So, they’re sending a team of two to meet with us tomorrow,” Eric read. “Uh, mostly to discuss broad strokes purposes and stuff… oh, their names are Ran-Mao and Grelle Sutcliff”-

Will had never had a heart attack. His health was impeccable, and he measured his blood pressure regularly. But he had a heart attack at those two words. He wrenched the paper out of Eric’s hands and read the sentence over and over again.

Our co-founders, Ran-Mao and Grelle Sutcliff, will be visiting on Thursday.

Our co-founders, Ran-Mao and Grelle Sutcliff, will be visiting on Thursday.

Our co-founders, Ran-Mao and Grelle Sutcliff, will be visiting on Thursday, in order to rip out William T. Spears’ remaining sanity and stomp on it in red high heels.

Eric and Othello stared at him. “Something wrong?” Othello asked.

Will glanced up with a look of pure terror in his green eyes. It was one of the few times his eyebrows arched upward instead of just being straight lines.

“I have to…” he took a deep breath. “I have to go talk to the supervisors.”

Will, clutching the pamphlet, ran out of the conference room- yes, ran, drawing the attention of everyone he passed on his hurried way to his superior’s office. For Will never ran if he could help it, and he could always help it (except when certain horrible redheads made him an accomplice to robbery). Yet here he was, practically sprinting across the office building, because of the same goddamn woman. It was too late to switch to the Funtom team, he thought as he turned a corner, and even if he could, it wouldn’t matter. Grelle would find him. Her sharp powder-covered nose was as sensitive as a bloodhound’s.

Eventually, panting, he reached his supervisor’s office. He leaned against the wall outside and took a moment to catch his breath and straighten his tie and glasses. He glanced at the paper again.

Our co-founders, Ran-Mao and Grelle Sutcliff, will be visiting on Thursday.

Oh, god.

As he regained his composure, he knocked on the office’s door and was let in surprisingly quickly.

“What is it, Spears?” his supervisor said, going through some papers.

“Sir, I’m afraid I have a complaint about my new assignment,” Will rushed. It was entirely possible he was having a small panic attack. “You know I’m not one to find petty things to complain about, but I’m afraid I simply cannot work with one of the individuals”-

His supervisor sighed, took off their glasses, and rubbed their eyes. “Spears. You should know there isn’t room in our line of work for petty grievances.”

“And- and I understand that, sir, but she- that is, one of the representatives”-

“Spears!”

Will instinctively straightened his back and shut his mouth.

“Better,” his supervisor said. “William T. Spears. There is no room in our line or work for petty grievances, or grudges of any sort. I don’t care if this woman burned your house down. You will work amicably with her or face termination.”

Fear.

Will swallowed nervously. “Yes, sir,” he replied, more timidly than usual.

“Good,” his supervisor sighed. “Now get out of my office.”

Will left, heart racing with cold blood, and shut the door behind him. He sat down on a nearby chair and covered his mouth with a gloved hand.

After checking that no one was around, he let out a deep breath.

“Oh, FUCK ME,” he moaned.


	9. Chapter 9

“So… we’re just supposed to wait out here for them?” Eric sighed. He flicked a strand of yellow hair out of his face.

The three men stood outside the office building, waiting for the women’s shelter representatives to arrive. Well, Othello was sitting on the pavement, holding a lime green umbrella to stave off the sun, but Will and Eric were upright. Will was more than a little anxious to meet with Grelle again, but he hid it well. He didn’t think she knew they were meeting; she texted him nearly every hour about the most random things and this hadn’t come up.

To make matters even more complicated, Othello, by some cruel twist of fate, actually knew Grelle. They were friends, curse the word. Apparently, they had been theater pals in college. Grelle was an actress and Othello did tech crew, as he had explained in great length after Will’s freak-out, which had only inflamed the poor man's anxiety.

“Grelle says she’ll be here in just a minute,” Othello said. The faint sounds of heavy metal infected Will’s ears. He groaned quietly and pushed up his glasses.

“That must be her,” Othello added. “Her car’s red, I think.”

Will was aware.

An ostentatious sports car the color of freshly spilled blood roared into the office complex’s large parking lot. Will watched them break at least 15 road laws, including the speed limit (by a lot), as a metal song almost as explicit as Grelle was blared from her car’s speakers.

She sang along at the top of her lungs in a pitchy voice as the car pulled into a parking spot that was meant for a vehicle much saner and smaller than hers. Little doll things filled up her dashboard, all sorts of stickers were plastered against the end of her car, and her license plate spelled out “RDREAPR.” None of that mattered, but Will was forced to notice all of it.

By some miracle, the music shut off and Grelle stepped out of the passenger seat in four-inch red heels. Maybe she just liked to be tall. The striking thing about her outfit was that it was just so… professional. Her long-sleeved striped blouse actually had a collar that wasn’t turned up and didn’t have a plunging neckline. Her pants were actual pants and not things that may have been pants in a past life. And her flaming hair was styled neatly and swept to one side.

She actually looked… nice.

However, this was immediately ruined when she spoke. “Ah, I thought you would never be able to fit in that tiny little hole!” she laughed at the shorter woman, who'd emerged from the driver's side. Her companion- Ran-Mao, Will assumed- had long dark hair tied up in tight buns, voluminous bangs, and an outfit entirely out of the Victoria’s Secret businesswoman collection (They don’t have one, but that was the most accurate way to describe what she wore).

“You scraped the car beside you with the door,” Ran-Mao noted in a flat voice, shrugging a large artsy purse over her shoulder.

“Eh,” Grelle shrugged. “It'll be fine.”

Othello waved to them. “Yo, Grelle!" he shouted.

Grelle screeched and ran toward them. She stopped halfway across the parking lot to put her hands on her knees and pant heavily. Then resumed running and hugged Othello. “Hi sweetie!” she exclaimed.

She and Othello mock kissed each other on the cheeks like rich middle aged white women do. Grelle looked up, glasses chains bouncing, and Will could feel his heart sink into the depths of the ocean. Her face twisted into a manic toothy grin as she ran to Will and poked his collarbone gleefully. “Oh, and what are you doing here, handsome?” she cooed, blushing and making kissy faces at him.

Will sidestepped when she tried to hug him. “Ah, you’re just as standoffish as ever,” Grelle purred, neon green eyes darting back and forth behind red-rimmed lenses and pointed smile nearly stretching across her entire face. Cheshire cat indeed. “You’re just the same now as you were then.”

Will furrowed his brow. “Then?” he asked.

Grelle giggled like she was discussing something scandalous. “You know… our first night together,” she blushed.

Ah yes. The laundromat disaster. “I only wish I could forget it,” Will sighed.

The redhead cackled. “Oh, my body will ne-ever forget. Just the thought of it makes me- ah!” she wailed. Apparently the professional take on attire didn’t extend into a professional take on manners.

Eric grasped Will’s shoulder and pulled him aside. “William T. Spears,” he asked, “did you fuck this woman? Be honest.”

Disgusted, Will snapped, “Of course not.”

“Then why is she acting like,,,, like THAT?!” Eric gestured to Grelle, who was acting like… Grelle.

“That’s just how she is, apparently,” Will huffed. He pushed his glasses up. “I tried to convince the administration not to make me work with her, but they insisted. At least the other one seems competent.”

Ran-Mao had remained silent as she shook hands with Othello and gave Will a death glare. The woman was a foot shorter than him, but Will was still a little scared of her.  
Meanwhile, Grelle had sidled up to Eric and was oddly wiggling her hips. “Oh my, and who is your handsome friend?” she murmured, tilting her head to get a better look at him. “Normally I wouldn’t be so forward, fufu, but since I already know my dear Othello and yourself, Will, I feel as if I already know him!”

She pointed one manicured finger at Will like it was the sight of a gun. “Speaking of which~ what can you tell me about our stoic friend here?”

Eric laughed. “He had a panic attack when he found out you would be working with us. And vehemently denies you ever slept together.”

“We haven’t!” Will insisted. It was the damn truth, if anyone would ever look past Grelle’s wobbly hips to realize it.

“Yet,” Grelle cackled under her breath. Louder, she lamented, “Oh, my William, so cold to me, you are!”

And yet it doesn’t stop you. “Can we please just get to work?” Will sighed. Ran-Mao nodded.

The conference room they normally used was taken up by Alan, Ronald, Sascha, Ludger, and the Funtom representatives, so they took out another one normally used by accounting. It seemed to be Grelle’s job to lay out the facts and give their presentation, while Ran-Mao scared everyone else into silence. Will couldn’t explain why he was afraid of a 5’ Chinese woman at least five years younger than him, but he was terrified.

Grelle bounced on her red heels as she set up their slideshow. “Okay,” she sighed in satisfaction as the projector finally started working and it clicked to their first slide. It read, “THE ANGELINA DALLES WOMEN’S SHELTER AND COLLABORATION WITH SHINIGAMI NONPROFIT: AN OVERVIEW.”

Grelle read aloud the slide title and clicked to the next one. “We were founded thirteen years ago by our namesake, Angelina Dalles, also known as Madam Red, who set up a home for homeless women with her family fortune, with a focus on reaching out towards transgender and queer women, women of color, and sex workers.”

Grelle had a hand on her hip as she narrated the slides. Her professional outfit was, to be completely honest, a little bit distracting. She just looked so... nice. And a little bit cute. Okay, fine, she looked beautiful.

Maybe if there was another mind behind her fake lashes, sure, he would consider her good-looking. But to do that, you have to factor in the Grelle that lies underneath.  
Now if only she could stop being professional so he could remember what an absolute shitlord she was under all that eyeshadow.

“And we strive to provide a safe space for all women with as few rules as possible,” Grelle finished, clasping her hands together. Will noticed her nails were painted a darker shade of red today. And her hips were- absolutely not being thought about by Will. Not at all. Nope.

“Does anyone have any questions so far?” she asked. No questions. “Alright, then I’ll hand it over to Ran-Mao to talk about what we need.” The slide clicked to a list.

“One of our most critical needs is bedding,” Ran-Mao said in a flat voice. “Mattresses, blankets, pillows...” she continued to list items and explain why they needed them, but Will’s attention was more focused on Grelle, who was sort of swaying back and forth in place on her heels to entertain herself. She picked at her manicure. And toyed with a lock of her bloodred hair.

Eventually, she noticed Will looking at her, and gave him a wave. She also blew a kiss, which Will made an effort to dodge. You never know.

Grelle cleared her throat for her next portion of the presentation, which ended with, “We believe a partnership with your organization could help us grow, get the materials and funding we need, and establish sustainable links that will survive and help many more women than we could do on our own.”

Eric clapped enthusiastically. Will wasn’t aware they were supposed to clap. Othello clapped slowly because he figured if Eric was applauding he was probably supposed to as well but he didn’t want to infringe on Eric's applause.

Grelle took a dramatic bow as Ran-Mao turned off the projector and turned the lights back on. “Thanks, honey,” she gushed, bending over and hugging Othello. Will stared at a patch of drywall for the sole reason that it wasn’t Grelle’s ass. It actually wasn’t very good drywall, he noted. He’d have to have a talk with the repair team later. This had better not turn into overtime.

Grelle sat next to Will and looked at him expectantly. Or maybe demanding was a better word for it. “Do you have a presentation too, William?” she asked, batting her fake eyelashes. “Or did I overprepare?”

“We don’t have a slideshow, if that’s what you mean, but I can give you an auditory history of our organization,” Will said, not making eye contact with her and instead looking at a stack of various papers. “We were founded in the year.....” he went on and didn’t stop for about twenty minutes. It might have been panic-induced, but he was interested in the nonprofit’s history.

By the end of his monologue, Othello was reduced to hitting his head on the table. Eric was texting someone- presumably Alan. Ran-Mao was braiding her long hair. And Grelle was staring at him with a very confused look, her lipstick-coated mouth hanging open and her eyebrows bent upwards.

“Eh... alright,” she managed. “Fun. So should we discuss what we’re actually supposed to do together instead of making the foreplay last ages?”

“I see your inappropriate metaphors don’t stop even in the workplace,” Will sighed.

“You’re damn right I don’t stop even in the workplace!” she winked.

“You really shouldn’t curse at work,” he muttered.

***

Despite Grelle’s best attempts to tank the meeting via explicit sexual metaphors, it went marginally well. The five of them decided on meeting again at the women’s shelter Tuesday (Grelle and Ran-Mao had “a thing” Monday. Will didn’t ask). The meeting wrapped up and Grelle and Ran-Mao started on their way out. Will noticed it was about time for his lunch break too.

“Oh my Will, escorting me to my car?” Grelle giggled, hefting a heavy purse over her shoulder. “How gentlemanly of you to treat a lady so delicately like that!”

“Honestly,” Will grumbled. “You are anything but delicate.”

“Then let’s hope you like a strong woman, gorgeous!” Grelle exclaimed as she and Ran-Mao strutted down the hall, with Will following behind.

Unfortunately, the Funtom group appeared to be wrapping up at around the same time. A gothic man in all black and... for some reason, a 5’ blue-haired teenager in a fitted suit, marched out the other conference room and strode ahead of Grelle and company. They made a bizarre pair.

“I don’t see why we had to come all the way out here,” the teenager lamented. “Such things are easily handled in emails. Or is that technology too far past your time?”

The Victorian gothic-style man smiled, but the kind of smile like, ‘I can’t wait until you die. I will dance on your grave. Then I will truly smile.’

“I may be old”- he was in his mid-twenties- “but I understand how emails work, bocchan. They wanted to meet here because they value human contact.”

“Why?” the teenager shuddered. “Why would anyone value that?”

The goth shrugged. “Humans are strange folk.”

“I suppose you’re right about one thing, Sebastian,” the blue-haired teenager huffed.  
At a single word- Sebastian- Grelle’s ears perked up. Her gaze darted from Will to the skinny goth man. Sharp rows of teeth bared themselves. Her pupils dilated. Will swore she changed from a woman into a feral cat.

“SEBAS-CHAAAANNNNNN!!” Grelle shrieked, sprinting to him and attempting to football tackle him and pin him to the floor. She failed in this as he sidestepped and let her crash face-first to the floor. Clearly another individual well-versed in Grelle’s... flirtatious personality.

Now that the two were turned towards Will, he saw that the smaller of them, the boy, had an eyepatch over his right eye. He also wore black eyeliner and couldn’t have been more than fifteen. The man- Sebastian- had a patronizing, infuriating smile and a face that Will just wanted to punch. But clearly Grelle just wanted a kiss.

“Oh, Sebas-chan, I can’t believe we run into each other like this!” she rushed, clutching his arm with an iron grip. “It must be fate in the works, allowing us to meet here! I”-

“It is merely coincidence,” Sebastian muttered, forcefully removing Grelle from his person and shoving her away.

Grelle shivered in excitement. “Ah! So passionate!!” she squealed, moving her hips so frantically Will thought she was having some sort of muscle spasm. She seemed so excited and enthusiastic, it was nearly cruel the way Sebastian rejected her so heartlessly like that. Was that what he was like? On the other side of things, he could understand the goth man’s actions. Grelle was... horribly persistent. Best to nip it in the bud before she got ideas. Frankly, he wasn’t sure how anyone tolerated that horrible woman.

“And this is?” the teenager asked.

Will put a hand up in front of Grelle to discourage her from pursuing Sebastian further.

“My sincerest apologies for... this,” he sighed. “I take it you know Miss Sutcliff.”

“Not by choice.” Sebastian gestured to the teenager beside him. “Allow me to introduce the young Earl Ciel Phantomhive, CEO and owner of Funtom Corp.”

“Eh? That little runt?” Grelle puzzled. “But he’s so... tiny and cute!”

Anger flashed across Ciel’s adorable face. “How dare you!” he spat. “I am the farthest thing from cute”-

“Indeed, bocchan,” Sebastian smirked.

“Don’t- don’t agree with me in front of them,” Ciel groaned.

Sebastian bowed to him. “My mistake. You are very adorable, my lord.”

“THAT IS WORSE!” Ciel exclaimed. “YOU GET HOW THAT’S WORSE, RIGHT?!”

Ran-Mao walked up to them. She was barely a centimeter taller than Ciel. “Excuse me,” she said flatly.

They immediately parted. Ran-Mao walked through and dragged Grelle with her.

“Oh my darling Sebas-chan!” the flamboyant redhead screeched as she was literally dragged by a woman nearly a foot shorter than her. “I’ll see you again, I just know it! Oh, my love, our destinies are intertwined and”-

The door shut behind her. Will sighed and pushed up his glasses. “My sincerest apologies for her.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at Will. “Yes,” he spoke. “You should really get a better hold over your subordinates.”

“Miss Sutcliff isn’t my subordinate,” Will replied.

Sebastian raised one thin eyebrow. “Oh goodness me,” he giggled in a sinister manner. “Girlfriend, perhaps?”

“Not if you threatened to kill my entire family,” Will answered.

“We’re wasting time, Sebastian,” Ciel groaned, tugging at his butler’s sleeve. “Let’s go. And we’re stopping at that nice bakery on our way back.”

“You’ll grow fat if you keep up such eating habits, bocchan,” Sebastian advised as they walked away.

Ciel laughed. “So?!”

Will adjusted his glasses and headed towards the office break room. To his surprise, he found Othello and Ronald already there.

“‘Sup, Senior,” Ronald winked. He had a can of cold brew coffee in front of him. Will shuddered to think of caffeinated Ronald. Othello waved enthusiastically, then returned to his phone. By some freak of nature, he’d already gotten cup ramen and had nearly finished it.

“Don’t you two have work to be doing?” Will asked, sitting down opposite them.  
Ronald shrugged. “It’s our break,” he said. “Plus, we’re making plans to go to a bar with Grelle and her lady friends!”

It was fortunate Will wasn’t holding anything, because if he was, he would have broken it in two. “You’re what?” he asked in a dangerously calm voice. It was bad enough they had to work together, now they were hanging outside out of office hours? What was next, co-plotting a murder?!

“I said we’re making plans to go to a bar with Grelle and her lady friends!” Ronald repeated in the louder voice he used for confused seniors.

“Yes, I know. I wear glasses, not hearing aids, Knox,” Will snapped. He took a deep breath and pushed up his glasses. “Why on earth are you doing that?”

Othello smiled in his trademark slightly creepy way. “Goodness, Will. Are you that scared of Grelle?”

“Certainly not,” Will huffed. Sure, she made his anxiety flare up, but that wasn’t scared, that was just dread of the disasters that followed in her wake. Like hanging out after work with his colleagues and her. It suddenly hit him that he didn’t even have to go, and he sighed in relief. “As long as it’s in your off time, do what you want.”

He stood up to go get a cup of ramen from the vending machine. While he was waiting for it to fall from the iron claws of the mechanism, Ronald added, “Oh, and of course you’ll be our designated driver!”

Will made a stifled noise of horror. “No. No, I won’t be. Take a cab,” he insisted. “Or ask Alan. Or literally anyone else.”

“But Alan can’t do that!” Ronald protested. “Things are going so badly between him and Eric; he needs to have a night to let loose for once!”

Othello giggled creepily. “Plus we’re hoping they’ll kiss if they’re both drunk.”

“That is morally questionable,” Will muttered. He retrieved the cup ramen, poured in some water, and popped it in the stained old office microwave. “What about Sascha or Ludger?”

“They’re busy that night,” Ronald sighed. “Prior commitments and all that. And don’t think about asking if one of us can do it, because I am this close”- he squished his pointer finger and thumb together- “to getting my license suspended. If I didn’t know that girl at the DMV I wouldn’t even have been able to drive to work today. Also, Othello is a bad driver. I don’t want to die tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?” Will asked in a stressed voice. “That soon?”

Ronald shrugged. “As Grelle told us, ‘live fast, die young’.”

“You know she didn’t make up that saying, right?” Will asked as he waited for the water to heat up.

“Yeah, it’s from the M.I.A. song,” Othello piped up.

The microwave dinged and Will retrieved the cup of flimsy dully flavored ramen. He stirred it with a plastic spoon as he said, “I don’t think it’s from whatever that is.”

“Just looked it up,” Ronald added, staring at his phone with a My Little Pony case. “It’s from an old movie called Knock on Any Door.”

Will took a sip of the ramen. It burned his tongue. He swallowed it anyway, deciding that living the rest of the day with a burnt tongue was better than spitting out the soup in front of everyone. “Origin of the phrase aside, why can’t you just call a taxi or a ride-share service to take yourselves home?” he asked. “Or call a friend?”

Othello raised one manicured eyebrow. “Will. Dude. You are the friend that we’re calling.” He cast a hand over his forehead in mock drama, his inner theater kid emerging. “Help us, William T. Spears. You’re our only hope!”

Will groaned and ate more boiling ramen. “Fine,” he relented. “But we leave at midnight. And you all owe me two hours of overtime for this. And if even one of you thinks about dry heaving in my car”-

“Don’t worry senior, we’ll just use Alan’s soccer mom minivan,” Ronald interrupted him. “And you can drive there. The girls are taking the bus, I think.”

Will sighed. At least he wouldn’t have to shuttle a drunk Grelle back to her apartment. (Or so he thought).


	10. Chapter 10

Will didn’t really like going out. Sure, the nonprofit had group dates, but it wasn’t like he participated in them. There were a few times when he’d had to drive or chaperone, but he had always mentally checked out for the evening and repressed the memories of Ronald’s horrible attempts at sexy dancing. This seemed like it would be one of those nights.

The bar was, thankfully, not too crowded. Will noted that Eric was already there (most likely he drove here straight after work and had been drunk for at least two hours). The rest of his coworkers, including Will, had carpooled in Alan’s minivan, and were forced to listen to Taylor Swift for twenty full minutes. Will had nothing against Taylor Swift, but after hearing Ronald, Alan, and Othello croon along to Blank Space endlessly, he never wanted to hear a single song of hers again (He also never wanted to hear the three of them sing again).

A piercing screech split the air. Will took a deep breath and turned to see none other than the eternal menace herself, Grelle Sutcliff. In a skimpy red outfit that belonged in hell. Especially the black and red ruffles around her waist that she had in place of a skirt or pants.

“Oh, Will!” she shrieked, running toward him. “William! You came!” Thankfully, she didn’t hug him and instead did an awkward little dance beside him that mostly consisted of shifting her hips rapidly and making a kissy face at him. It was kind of indescribable.

“Ah, I didn’t know our William likes parties!” she gushed, then gasped. If it was possible for sparkles to manifest in her eyes, they would have. “You have to meet my friends!!” She took a deep breath, then screeched, “RAN-MAO! MEY-RIN! CLAUDE! GET OVER HERE NOW!”

Will was once again thankful he wasn’t her friend.

Three equally-dubious looking characters shuffled over. Will recognized Ran-Mao, of course- who tonight was sporting a crop top that said, ‘SORRY BOYS, I EAT PUSSY’. The woman introduced as Mey-Rin- that Will assumed was her girlfriend, they were holding hands after all- was a goth with spiky burgundy hair and large circular opaque glasses that made her look like an insect. The last of their small party was a tall thin man in an old ratty t-shirt and jeans with an e-boy chain necklace and glasses that seemed to be mostly for decoration. He introduced himself as, “Claude Faustus. I have to go throw up now.”

Grelle’s friends were as strange as she was, Will mused as Ronald and Othello teamed up with their half a brain cell between them to explore the bar.

“We’re about to do the taser challenge, you guys want in?” Claude asked after he finished puking his guts out into a wastebasket, like nothing had happened.

“What’s the taser challenge?” Othello asked, wide-eyed.

Claude revealed a tiny pink pocket taser he’d borrowed from Ran-Mao. “You tase each other, then drink.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “This seems like a bad idea.”

Eric sneered. “What are you, a cop? It’s tasers. Get tased at a party, man.” He then spotted Alan- who had carved out a section of the bar for himself and was already drinking vodka. It had been a rough day.

“He’s here!” Eric gasped, hiding behind Will, even though Will was marginally thinner than him and he would have had better luck hiding behind a pole. “What do I do?!”

Grelle grabbed Eric’s shoulders and looked him in the eye down her glasses like they were the scope of a rifle. “Okay, listen to me Eric,” she whispered. “Calm down.” Eric nodded frantically. “Think of happy thoughts. Puppies. Hot men. Mango shots.”

These were the first things that came to Grelle’s mind for ‘happy thoughts’ that everyone could relate to?

“Remember, be direct,” Grelle instructed him. “People don’t like to play a lot of games.” She tossed a lock of red hair over her shoulder. “Except for me, but I’m wired to thrive on dysfunction.”

Explains a lot, Will thought to himself, crossing his arms. “I think we should start simpler,” he interjected. Eric and Grelle glanced at him in surprise. Will normally didn’t get involved in romantic matters, but here he was. The sooner Eric and Alan got together, the faster work got done. Not because Will cared about them or whatever.

“Slingby, smile at him,” Will started, trying to ignore the flashing multicolored bar lights. “And don’t get into a fight right away.”

Grelle laughed. “He knows not to- oh, you’re writing that down,” she mumbled as Eric scribbled notes on his hand with a sharpie.

“I don’t get it, senior,” Ronald drawled as he leaned over the bar, unnaturally-colored drink in hand. “You’re always so confident with everything and with the ladies.”

Will experienced an unfortunate flashback to a meeting where, when asked what he was doing the night before, Eric replied, “Eating out your girlfriend, Ronald.” He shuddered to recall it (Ronald and his at-the-time girlfriend had broken up the same day).

“I’m not confident when it comes to him!” Eric hissed. “He’s so strong and empathetic and- and I have no idea how he’ll react!”

Grelle grabbed Eric’s cheek and pulled him incredibly close. “Listen to me. You. Got. This,” she ordered. “I love you so much. Now go get some dick!”

Will leaned over to Grelle as Eric stumbled towards Alan. “Do you even know what’s happening?” he asked her quietly.

“Absolutely no idea, no,” the redhead grinned. “Barkeep!” she shouted in a positively Victorian manner, attracting the attention of a stout blonde American who waved back at her. “Shots for all my friends here,” Grelle said, then pointed across the bar. “And one of what that guy’s having for this guy, and one of what this guy’s having for that guy.”

“Sure thing, ma’am,” the bartender replied, and soon handed her a shot, which she waved in Will’s face.

Will pushed it away and adjusted his glasses. “I’m not drinking tonight,” he stated, and braced himself for complaints from Grelle, but received a horribly high-pitched coo in return.

“Ah, so dependable!” she gushed, blushing and poking his chest with a fake nail. It hurt. “Such a gentleman, handsome!” When Will didn’t reply, she huffed, walked off, and returned with a poster that read in large garish font:

KARAOKE NIGHT FRIDAYS  
THE WORSE, THE BETTER

“Mmm,” Grelle grinned, pushing the paper onto his chest. “I only wish I could hear you sing.”

“Keep dreaming, Sutcliff,” Will sighed. He glanced at the makeshift karaoke stage and saw a short lesbian grabbing the microphone. “Your friend Ran-Mao is ahead of you, it seems,” he observed.

“What?!” Grelle exclaimed. She rushed to the stage and pinched the second one. “Not fucking without me, you don’t,” she said into the speaker system, lips fully on the mic, which caused a lot of feedback.

Will groaned and ordered ginger beer with a lemon. He wished he’d known it was karaoke night, so he could’ve brought noise-cancelling headphones. He dreaded hearing Grelle sing.

He wasn't exactly sure what song she picked, but it was very modern and Will couldn’t bear to listen. He pressed his hands over his ears.

“That’s right William you prude!” Grelle shrieked as Ran-Mao sang her part. “I’m going to sing this shit! And I’m gonna maintain eye contact the whole time!”

Will took off his glasses.

She was evidently very inebriated, so it wasn’t worth trying to reprimand her. Let’s face it, he sighed to himself. In this state, she would probably be into it anyway.

By the end of the song, Grelle was cackling like an evil red-haired witch, Ran-Mao had made at least five more people fall in love with her, and Will was resting his head on the bar, longing for the sweet release of death.

The overly promiscuous redhead staggered over to the bar and sat next to Will, lying on the counter in what he could only assume was meant to be a seductive way. “Did you like my singing, William?” she crooned.

Will lifted his head out of his arms and looked at her in a way that can only be described as, ‘awaiting death’. He sighed. “No.”

She pouted. “Was it the song? I knew you were a tight-ass, but I didn’t think you had the Kidzbop song editors that far up in you.”

At this point, when she was this out of it, there was no making sense out of her sayings. “I didn’t much care for the song, honestly,” he huffed. “Too…”

“Sex?” Grelle asked, lying flat on her back on the bar counter.

The bartender sighed. “I told you Grelle, you can’t be doing that. Get off.”

“I’m trying!” she grumbled, stumbling off the counter and into the seat next to Will. “Youseethethingis,” Grelle said, slurring the words into one long one, “that song is actually important in the history of farminism”-

“Feminism?” Will said apathetically.

Grelle’s eyes widened. “You are a so smart! Anyway, ‘s important cause there have been soooo many songs about male pleasure and treating women like shit, so a song about female pleasure is good actually”-

She never got to finish this sentence because she threw up over the counter. Will was a tiny bit disappointed. Grelle rather had a point. If she talked intelligently like that and not about repugnant topics all the time, he might be able to stand her.

Grelle moaned and spat a clump of red hair out of her mouth. “Ughhhh… Pat my back, Will.”

“Pardon?” he asked.

“PAT MY BACK, WILLIAM T. SPEARS! IT HELPS ME!” she shouted.

Will was a tiny bit terrified, so he lowered his hand to Grelle’s sweaty back and patted it lightly. It did seem to calm her down and restore some sense to her. He felt like he was stroking an overexcited ginger wolf that could at any minute tear his face off, hump his leg, or just keep lying on the bar counter and demand more pats.

Meanwhile, Ronald was halfway through California Girls. Why he picked that song, Will had no idea. Maybe he was from California.

Grelle lifted her head up slightly and rested it on her crossed wrists. “So- er- do you do group outings like this often?” she asked. It was rather impressive how she tried to make conversation even after vomiting over a bar. “Don’t stop fucking patting, Will! You want me to throw up again? Your hand is the only thing between this bar and it being covered in the five keto smoothies I had earlier!”

Never mind.

“They do group dates sometimes, but I don’t do those types of things,” Will replied, making sure to keep patting Grelle’s back. He felt strangely more connected to her like this, having a casual conversation with casual physical contact. “It’s just not something I enjoy.”

“Aww, my little Will doesn’t like romance?” Grelle rasped. “Ah- pull back my hair, please, honey beans.”

Honey beans?

He gathered up her masses of blood red hair, took a hair tie from her wrist, and tied it together at the base of her head. Her glasses were hanging by their chain. He snatched those too- they were dirty.

“Wha- I need those!” Grelle protested. “I’m very nearsighted, I’ll have you know! They aren’t just to make me look even sexier!”

Will cleaned the red-rimmed lenses off with the glasses wipe he kept in his pocket. “Sit up.”

With no little difficulty, Grelle obeyed. He stuck the now-clean glasses back onto her nose. This was a mistake, as Grelle gave him a peck on the cheek in return.

“Please don’t kiss me,” Will sighed. “You’re drunk.”

She giggled. “Oh, my William is a gentleman indeed! Tonight I’ll take all your rejections of me because I’m drunk and not because you don’t love me and nobody else does!” she declared, throwing her arms open.

Will sighed. “It isn’t my job to make sure you’re loved.”

Grelle scoffed. “And here I thought you were a gentleman. Would it kill you to be sweet to a lady for once, hmm?”

When Will didn’t respond, she huffed in indignity and marched up to the makeshift karaoke stage. Will thought he heard her say, “Hmph! This’ll show him…”

He expected to hear horribly profane pop or rap music. He should have expected screeching out-of-tune heavy metal.

He wasn’t expecting Grelle to be able to sing in a death voice. He should have been.

Some demons were summoned in Grelle’s cursed performance. Her voice changed from high-pitched wailing to guttural, feral, old-heavy-metal screaming.

Will was…

Scared.

(He couldn’t make out the lyrics, but caught the word “motherfucker” at least ten times). It may have been unrelated, but he swore a lightbulb blew out midway through her performance due to the sheer anger.  
=  
After she finished her second loud and vulgar performance of the night, she stuck her tongue out at Will and stumbled offstage. Claude caught her elbow and carried her fireman-style to the bathroom, accompanied by Mey-Rin. The two seemed very concerned for Grelle, but Will didn’t pay much attention to it. Anything that got Grelle away from him was a small blessing, and her friends seemed to be able to manage her.  
For the next hour or so, Will drank painfully non-alcoholic drinks and glared at the bartender when he attempted to chat with him. He eventually went over and sat next to Alan, who was… quite drunk. And resting his head on the counter.

“Why does no one love me?” he mumbled.

Will sighed. “Have you considered Grelle? She seems to have much the same drunken thoughts.”

“I’m a HOMOSEXUAL, William,” Alan groaned, slumping down further. “And even if I wasn’t, you’re like me, sorta… you wouldn’t date her either!”

“Certainly not,” Will sniffed. He didn’t think about his love life much. But when he did, he imagined anyone-but-Grelle in it. Dating that nightmare wasn’t something he’d wish upon his worst enemy.

Alan glanced up, glasses tilted across his face, and looked toward the karaoke stage, where Eric was performing a very drunken rendition of what Will believed was an old song by the Sex Pistols. Don't ask him how he knows that. “Would you date Eric?” he muttered, taking a long sip of whiskey.

“No,” Will replied immediately. This seemed to dishearten Alan. Will added, “I wouldn’t date a coworker no matter who they were. Romantic entanglement and emotions never mix with work.”

“Whatabout Sascha and Ludger?” Alan sighed.

Will pushed up his glasses. “I wasn’t aware they were dating.”

Alan stared at him. “Ho, what did you think they were doing?!” he asked incredulously.   
“You know absolutely nothing about emotions.” He chuckled as he drank more. “Maybe you should date Grelle.”

“No, not even if it would cure cancer.”

Meanwhile, the sound of muffled sobbing came from the bathroom. Grelle and Claude were hugging as tears streamed down their faces and Mey-Rin tried to calm them both down.

“Why does no one love meeee?” Grelle wailed, wiping the snot off her face with Claude’s hair.

“I am so alone,” Claude sobbed, drying his tears with Grelle’s hair.

Best friends.

“But- but you aren’t really alone, yes!” Mey-Rin nodded. Even though she was very drunk herself, she had made it her mission to cheer up her friends. Even when they had drunk an entire bar and were flooding the bathroom with their tears.

“Easy for you to say,” Grelle sniffed. “You have a big tiddy goth girlfriend.”

“She is a big tiddy goth girlfriend,” Claude muttered bitterly. “I want a big tiddy goth boyfriend.”

“Me too!” Grelle cried, shaking Claude by the shoulders.

Someone had the utter nerve to walk out of a bathroom stall.

Grelle whipped her head up to look at them and her eyes immediately narrowed. “GET OUT!” she screeched.

“This is a private conversation!” Claude shouted.

“OUT!” the redhead yelled, feral and barely being held back by poor Claude Faustus. She sighed and glanced at Mey-Rin. “The nerve of some people. You were saying, love?”

The pink-haired goth nodded a little bit nervously and finished, “Yes, but neither of you are alone because you have your friends!”

Grelle stared at her. “Bullshit,” she huffed. “I want a loverrrr...”

She groaned and parted from Claude, who was utterly indifferent about it, and lay on the bathroom counter. “I want Will to love me...”

Claude scoffed. “He’s a bitch. If he was worthy of you, he wouldn’t break your heart like that.”

Mey-Rin looked a bit scandalized but ended up agreeing. “You deserve someone better, yes!” she nodded. “What about that sweet Sebastian?”

“He said he’d rather die,” Grelle moaned.

“What about Othello?”

Grelle laughed halfheartedly. “You kidding? I don’t even think he’s into women... all mad scientists are bisexual, though,” she mused. “If I was attracted to him at all, but I’m not, so it doesn’t matter. Williaammmmmm,” she sighed, rolling over onto her back.

Claude groaned and covered his mouth, possibly to keep himself from throwing up. “What’s it you even see in him? I mean, his looks are.... okay,” he said, waving his free hand around wildly. “But god, I barely know the guy and he’s such a tight-ass.”

“You just don’t understand love!” Grelle wailed, covering her eyes with her forearm in a dramatic Victorian maiden kind of way, even though the three of them huddled together in the bathroom resembled a baroque Renaissance painting. “I’m so heartbroken!”

“And how long have you known him?” Claude asked, glasses propped up on his head and cleaning his nails with a knife. No one knows how he got the knife.

Grelle sniffed. “A week…” she admitted. But that didn’t matter! She loved him with all her heart! Well… maybe not all her heart, but a decent amount of it.

Mey-Rin sighed. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Claude grunted. “You’re in love with the man and you’ve known him a week?!”

“Time has no reference on true love!” the redhead declared. Her head was so filled with static and buzz she wasn’t entirely conscious of her words, but still would defend them to the death.

“But is it actually true love or just that sort of love that you fall in all the time?” Ran-Mao bluntly asked. “Like with that pretty boy Sebastian?”

Grelle snapped awake with a feral raccoon look on her eyeliner-smeared face. “AH- THAT IS TRUE LOVE TOO, YOU WENCH!” she shrieked.

“She's unappreciated in her time,” Mey-Rin lamented. She patted Grelle’s head. “You know it’s called ‘a crush’ and not ‘true love’ at this point, right?”

Claude scoffed. “Come on. It’s not even a crush. That’s just how she is.” Mey-Rin tilted her head. “He kind of has a point.”

“Oh, both of you?!” Grelle huffed. “Unbelievable!”

It was starting to get late. Well, not late by most people’s standards, but late by Will standards. It was nearly 11:30. His sleep schedule was already still off thanks to Grelle, and he didn’t have a mind to let her bar outing throw it off even more.

The rest of them needed to go home anyway. Whatever they had been drinking was basically rat poison.

“You don’t even know one thing I asked you and you said the whole thing and I said the whole thing and you didn’t even say it once,” Grelle sobbed as Claude and Mey-Rin carried her out of the bathroom and draped her over a couch.

“I’m gonna tell you,” Ran-Mao slurred in Mandarin, “that bitch over there…” she pointed to a random woman Will recognized from Secretarial that Ran-Mao definitely didn’t know. (Will didn’t know Mandarin. He was just being polite). “I’m gonna- I’ma- I don’t even...”

Alan had drunk his way out of depression like a pro and was laughing to himself about Eric’s dancing.

“Turn this music down!” Ronald shouted from a booth, then started crooning, “Death comes for us all…” to a pop song. “Macaroni salad…”

Othello was speaking rapidly to one of the other workers from the nonprofit in what may have been Russian or utter nonsense.

Eric was under the impression he was a good dancer and had donned Ran-Mao’s goth hair bows.

Will stood up and cleared his throat. “Time to go.”

Nobody heard him.

“Time to go!” The only one who heard him was Alan, who snickered and waved in dismissal.

Will sighed, adjusted his glasses, and marched to the makeshift karaoke stage. “PEOPLE WHO ARE RIDING WITH ME: IT IS TIME TO GO!” he shouted into the mic. Or at least he was about to say that, before Eric and Ronald started cheering wildly. Grelle joined in. And so did everyone else.

“Is my handsome William going to sing for me?!” she crooned.

“Yeah, Will, sing for us,” Othello giggled.

Eric started banging on a table. “Sing for us!” Ronald chanted, and got the rest of the bar to join him. “Sing for us! Sing for us! Sing for us!”

“No!” Will insisted, but that only aggravated the chant.

He groaned. “If I do this one thing for you, this one thing, will you all shut up and go home immediately after!”

“Yes!” the nonprofit crowd shouted. Even the bar’s patrons who weren’t there for the shelter or nonprofit were very insistent that Will sing.

Will sighed, adjusted his glasses, and decided that they were too drunk to properly recall this anyway. “Anyone who mentions this Monday will get five hours of overtime,” he said into the mic. The small crowd cheered in response. God, he hoped no one was filming this.

The only song he knew the words to started up. Will closed his eyes and prayed Grelle wouldn’t make any inappropriate comments.

'Hikari ushinau shi no tomoshibi'  
'Kioku ga owaru sono kotowari'

Grelle screeched. The closest thing it could be likened to was a feral cat. “AAH! MY WILL IS SUCH A GOOD SINGER! You wish, you fucking wish you were me!” she cackled.

Will tried to ignore this and kept singing.

“It’s so- it’s so happy!” Eric marveled. He laughed. “Oh my god, he picked technopop!”

Ronald winced. “None of you know Japanese, do you?”

“THIS IS THE GREATEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE!” Grelle shrieked.

'Shikkoku toshokan shi no kiroku ga  
Gougan-fuson shi no chikara de,' Will sang, trying not to look Grelle in the eyes.

“He can sing?!” Othello gasped. “Holy fuck!”

Claude stared at Will in wonder. “I have seen the face of beauty,” he sighed.

“Oh, this!” Grelle clasped her hands together, mouth stretching into a V and eyes welling up with something… pride? “This is wonderful!”

“This is so cursed,” Alan whispered. Ronald shrieked in excitement. “I want to live in this moment forever!”

When he reached the part of the song that was long and crooning, he had to try to harmonize with Grelle’s screeching. She nearly fainted.

He’d never heard Othello fangirl-scream before. He didn’t want to ever again.

Grelle regained consciousness and made incomprehensible loud noises while scrambling to the ‘stage’ and latching onto his leg.

“Let go of my leg,” Will sighed, instead of 'burei-gouman chisei no giman.'

“Neverrrr,” Grelle whispered, cuddling his heavily ironed black pants.

Will had no choice but to return to the lyrics. Four minutes had never lasted longer in his entire life.

'Sono chitsujo no kama furiage  
Saigo no ippo de kage hikizuru'

The nonprofit clapped along and cheered. It was the most popular he had ever been with his coworkers.

When he finished the song- 'shinigami no kiritsu'- the crowd cheered wildly. Grelle had attached herself koala-like to his leg.

“Now get in the fucking car,” Will groaned, only to be met with laughing and giggles.

**Author's Note:**

> !! my first thing on here  
> it sure does exist


End file.
